


Joey Drew, What Did You Do? (Sammy's Story)

by Abreebee123



Series: Joey Drew, What Did You Do? [1]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: And Joey, And ink, Basically Batim from Sammy's POV, But it's basically an AU by the end, But that's understandable, Er... The End I should say, Gen, He hates the cutouts, I hate Joey too, Is what it was supposed to be, Sammy is in a constant state of annoyance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-06-28 19:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 33,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19818949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abreebee123/pseuds/Abreebee123
Summary: Sammy had worked at Joey Drew Studios for years. The working conditions were never great, with impossible deadlines, little sleep, and a boss who constantly ranted about belief, but Sammy had always managed. Until things started taking a strange and rather dangerous turn...





	1. Just Another Burst Pipe

**Author's Note:**

> Starting a few weeks before the studio goes to heck, this is basically Batim from Sammy's POV. I tried to keep it as close to canon as possible, but in order to make it not boring, I did change a few little details and take artistic liberty with a few things here and there. Hope you enjoy!

He plunged into the ink, the slimy black liquid enveloping him immediately. The pain was unimaginable. It forced itself into his mouth, nose, eyes, ears, and even his very pores. He retched, his body desperately trying to purge himself of the foreign substance, but to no avail. The ink acted as though it were a living, breathing, thing, surging through his skin, his bones, and the blood in his veins. He could feel Bendy watching him, grinning at him with that unnatural smile. The pain intensified, and he felt himself losing consciousness.

Sammy sat up suddenly, and was only relieved for a split second before he realized he was covered in ink. His breathing hitched and he looked around wildly before his brain started to understand what was going on. He was in his sanctuary. He had fallen asleep at his desk, not uncommon for him, as the amount of work he often had didn’t allow much time for sleep. As he looked to his left, he saw ink running from one of the many pipes all over the studio. It must have been under too much pressure and burst. Another thing that wasn’t too uncommon. This pipe in particular had only been installed a few days prior, as it was the first time it had burst. 

“It wasn’t enough for Joey to put the pump control switch in my office, noooo, he had to put another in my sanctuary.” Sammy grumbled to no one in particular, attempting to wipe the ink from his face with the back of his sleeve, which was equally coated in ink. 

Sammy couldn’t care less what the switch was for, it had pipes running along the sides which were very much capable of breaking, as that very incident had so proved. He got up from his chair, his shoes splashing as he stepped away from the desk. Looking down, he realized that there was nearly an inch of ink covering the entire floor. Great. 

“I’ll bet my music is ruined too?”

The sight on his desk only confirmed this, and he swore under his breath. Indeed, the top of the desk was coated in a thick layer of ink, along with the several sheets of music he had fallen asleep working on. Now he was even more behind. 

Well, nothing to do about it now, better get cleaned up. He grabbed the ink-stained towel that was hanging on a hook to the right of his desk and began wiping his face and arms. 

The whole reason he had turned that back room into a “sanctuary” of sorts was so he could have some peace and quiet to work on his songs, but at this point, it didn’t seem to matter. Pipe bursts were no rare occurrence, but this one has been particularly bad.

“This is wonderful, just wonderful.” he growled. His skin was stained black, but his hands and face were at least moderately dry now. He opened one of the drawers in his desk and pulled out a spare change of clothes. His office was where he kept most of his music, but this little back room that he called his ‘sanctuary’ was where he kept most of his other stuff. Holding the clothes out from touching his body, he opened the door and stepped into the band room. It was empty, thank goodness. And it was after hours, so if he was lucky, no one would see him in this state. His relief was short-lived though, as when he opened the door to the hallway it nearly caught Wally Franks in the face. 

Wally let out a yelp as he nearly walked into the door. 

“Hey, watch i-“ He stopped when he saw Sammy. He held back a snicker.

“What happened to you?” 

“What does it look like?” Sammy retorted, glaring at him. 

“Pipe burst in that room in the back of the band room, where I just so happened to be working at the moment. Go get it cleaned up, would you? And find Thomas while you’re at it so he can fix that stupid pipe.” He snapped. Wally stopped, the laughter dying in his throat. 

“Yep, right away, Sammy.” He said quickly, his eyes suddenly very focused on the floorboards. 

“I’m outta here,” Wally muttered under his breath as he slipped past Sammy, presumably to find Thomas.

Sammy shook his head and continued on his way to the bathroom. He made it there with no further incidents, and stepped inside. He thoroughly washed his face and hair in the sink, in some attempt to get rid of the ink stains. After about 5 minutes of scrubbing, it seemed to have worked at least a little. His hair wasn’t quite the shade of golden-brown it should have been, but it was better than nothing. He stepped into one of the stalls and changed. He had been very lucky that for the most part the ink hadn’t seeped through his clothes. One of the many benefits to wearing layers. Unfortunately though, the clothes he had been wearing were unsalvageable. Now dressed and cleaned up, he dropped the black, damp clothes in the garbage and started walking to his office.

He had a few things to grab before heading home. Normally he’d stay a little later, but considering that it was already after hours and he would need a long bath to get rid of the last of the ink stains, he decided that he’d call it a night. He was exhausted. He reached his office, grabbed his coat and keys, and was about to head to the exit when he paused. Sitting on his desk was a tape recorder. The label was blank, and next to it were two notes. 

_Joey wanted me to tell you that "The animators are almost done with the next cartoon. Tomorrow’s the deadline for all of them, so get on it." His words, not mine. -Norman_

The other read:

_Sammy, remember what I told you earlier? Well here’s a tape recorder so you can give it a try! -Susie <3 _

He rubbed his temples, gritting his teeth together. Joey had even more work for him, and yet another impossible deadline. Surprise surprise. Norman had probably written a note instead of telling him in person because he knew very well that Sammy had a temper when it came to those sorts of things. Smart man. In regards to the other note and the tape recorder, earlier that day Susie had approached him with another of her ideas. This one was that talking into a tape recorder would help him relieve stress. “And we all know you could use that!” She had said with a laugh. Well, he had nothing to lose. He sat down at his desk and pressed the record button.

_"Every time I turn around there’s more work to do. Four cartoons almost complete and all of them need a tune by tomorrow. Typical Joey planning."_ He paused, unsure of whether he should voice the next part out loud. Then he resumed. _"I’m working so much I’m starting to see Bendy in my sleep. That smile… He’s always watching me. Few more months of this, I wouldn’t be surprised if that grinning demon drove me completely insane. That smile… Something’s just wrong with that smile. Can’t put my finger on it. Shake it off, Sammy. Best get back to your songs. Someone has to keep the little devil happy."_

Click. He switched it off with a sigh. He couldn’t even bring himself to talk about the pipe burst, otherwise he’d probably kick something. After deciding to just leave it on his desk, he pulled out a few pieces of paper and a pen. He’d better jot down at least some of the tunes he’d written that day, else he’d forget them and have to do them all over from scratch. It didn't take him too long to do so, but it would take a while longer to actually get the songs to the point where they could be used in a cartoon. He got to his feet with a sigh, deciding to just finish the next day. Picking up his coat and keys, he started walking to the exit. He wasn't surprised at all to find that the stairwell was flooded. Just his luck. 

“Which switch was supposed to drain it?" He asked out loud, his voice echoing off the walls. "Joey’s gonna chew me out if I mess with the wrong one... ugh, guess I’ll just take the long way.” He grumbled.

Walking down the hallway, he turned into another, which lead to more stairs, these ones going up. He started up them, and several minutes later, he made it to a door. Turning the knob, he found it locked. He groaned at the thought of having to go back down all those stairs, before he remembered his keys. Pulling them from his pocket, he fumbled to find the right one before finally going through it and closing it behind him. He walked through the hallways and past multiple doors, he wasn’t really paying attention at this point. Finally, he made it to the exit. He turned the handle, opened the door, and stepped out into the cool night air. He took a deep breath, which seemed to instantly help him feel a bit better. The entire studio reeked of ink, and Sammy never really got used to it. Turning in the direction of his apartment, he couldn’t wait to finally get some sleep. 


	2. Susie's Replacement

After making his way through the maze of halls of Administration, he finally reached Joey’s office. While on his way to his own, someone had told him that Joey wanted to see him. 

“This had better be good..” Sammy mumbled. He knocked. 

“Come in!” Joey’s voice called. Sammy let himself in, and Joey was sitting at his desk with an unfamiliar woman sitting in front of him. She had mousy brown hair that came down to her chin.

“Sammy, this is Allison Pendle. She’s Susie’s replacement.” 

“What? Susie’s replacement?” This was certainly news to him. 

“Oh, I didn’t tell ya? My bad, but oh well. Yes, yesterday was Ms. Campbell’s last day.”

“But... why?” Sammy was still shocked. Susie loved her job, she loved voicing Alice Angel. She was so cheerful, even while the studio seemed like it was falling apart. She also made sure Sammy was taking care of himself. She was like a little sister to him.

“She just didn’t have what it took, I suppose. Don’t worry about it.” Joey gave him a wide grin. It reminded him of a shark. Allison stood up and shook his hand, blushing. Her emerald green eyes were wide with surprise. She was probably feeling quite awkward.

“Nice to meet you,” Sammy said with a nod. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Suzy had been fired. How had she taken the news? Sammy suddenly realized that he was just standing there. He cleared his throat apologetically.

“Come on Allison, I’ll show you around.” She nodded and followed him out of the office. 

“Sorry about that, I was just surprised, is all.” She nodded again. 

“That’s alright, I didn’t know I was replacing someone though...”

“I didn’t know Susie had been fired, she was probably the most cheerful one here. But I suppose I should be talking about the studio. You’ve obviously already met Joey. A word of advice? Don’t count on him for anything. He really doesn’t care about his employees. And he doesn’t like being confronted or talked back to. Although,” he shrugged. “I’m pretty much the only one who does it. It’s not like he’s going to fire me, I do half the work around here.” Sammy realized he was starting to rant. “Sorry, he drives me crazy.” 

“I can tell,” Allison said jokingly. “Well, he seemed nice enough from what I saw. What about everyone else?” 

“Pretty much everyone else is alright.” They reached Sammy’s office. 

“I just needed to stop here real quick, I’ll be right back.” Sammy ducked into his office before reappearing moments later. 

“By the way, if you have any other questions, feel free to ask.” It was then that Sammy realized he was talking more than usual. Maybe it was from the shock of Susie being fired? Or just having the chance to talk to someone he hadn’t worked with for years? He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it. 

“So where am I going to be working for the most part?” Allison’s question snapped him back to reality.

“Uh, the recording booth is in the band room, which is just up ahead. The studio is pretty big, but you’ll know your way around pretty soon.” They reached the band room and Sammy pulled the door open. The room was empty. 

“The band won’t be here for a few hours still. Oh, I forgot to mention. You’ve seen all the pipes all over the place, right?” Allison nodded.

“Did Joey show you the Ink Machine?”

“It was the first thing he showed me. He must be pretty proud of it?” Sammy snorted. 

“Yeah, you could say that. He hasn’t really told anyone what it’s for, except that it makes ink. But most of us are pretty sure that’s not the whole truth. The only person who might have an idea is Thomas. He helped build it. He won’t say anything about it though. But the thing is? Those pipes burst. All. The. Time. Just the other day, one burst in the room I was working in and it ruined hours of work, not to mention my clothes and several instruments. Most people keep a change of clothes here. You’ll need them.” Sammy was ranting again. “I’m sorry, I swear I don’t normally talk this much. I’ve got some pent-up frustrations I guess, and I’m still kinda shaken up about Susie.” Allison smiled and nodded.

“It’s alright. Better to talk about stuff than keep it in. Plus that’s all good stuff to know. Now, we should probably start recording, right?”

“Yeah. You’re voicing Alice Angel, did Joey tell you that?” She nodded.

“Ok, here.” He handed her a few sheets of paper with her lines and song.

“You can go into the recording booth and practice some, then-“ 

The door opened, and they both turned to look. Much to Sammy’s shock, Susie walked in. 

“Good morning Sammy! Who’s this?” She smiled cheerfully at Allison, her frizzy golden curls bouncing as stepped into the band room. 

“I’m Allison, what’s your name?”

Sammy was completely speechless.

“Wonderful to meet you, Allison, I’m Susie.” 

“Susie? But I thought...” Allison paused, looking at Sammy, a confused look on her face.

“Um— Susie, wh... what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? What’s going on?” Her smile wavered.

“Susie, Joey... Joey said that...” Sammy still hardly knew what to say. How could he possibly tell her? And why hadn’t Joey? 

“That... he fired you.” Susie froze.

“What?” 

“T-that Allison was your replacement..”

“What!?” Sammy didn’t know what else to say. He knew that she would react badly. She began to cry. 

“I-I don’t understand!” She sobbed. Allison looked completely perplexed, apologetic, and embarrassed. 

“No! Nonono! It must be some mistake! There’s gotta be a way to fix this!” She stormed out of the room and slammed the door. Allison looked at Sammy with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape.

“Stay here,” he growled. “I need to have a talk with Joey.” 

Sammy burst into Joey’s office, not bothering to knock. 

“JOEY DREW!” Sammy yelled. Joey looked rather surprised for a second before smiling, unfazed. 

“What can I do ya for?”

“You didn’t tell Susie that she was fired?” Joey smacked his forehead with his hand.

“I knew I was forgetting something!” He exclaimed, giving Sammy an exaggerated sad smile. 

“Must be getting old.” Sammy was practically shaking he was so mad. It was bad enough that he didn’t tell Sammy, but to not tell the person you had fired that you had fired them? Making someone else do it? Sammy knew in his gut that Joey had ulterior motives, he always did. But he could never figure out what they were. 

“Why did you make me tell her?” Sammy lowered his voice. “You knew that she would come in and see me with Allison, forcing me to tell her that she was out of a job. Why?” 

“What do you mean? Old brains make mistakes, you know.” 

“Why?!” Sammy pounded his fist on the desk in frustration, and Joey stood up suddenly.

“Get out.”

“Wh-”

“Get out of my office. Now.” Joey said. He stared at Sammy, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Sammy was in no way done, but he decided that if he stayed, one of them might do something they’d regret. He stalked out the door, not bothering to close it.

He returned to the band room, and found Allison in the recording booth, practicing her lines. Even after what had just happened, she got to work rather than waiting for Sammy, even though she hardly knew what was going on. Susie would have followed him, concerned, asking questions and making sure everything and everyone was ok. Kind of like a puppy that some find annoying, but others find endearing. She probably hated his guts now, Sammy thought sullenly.

He joined Allison in the recording booth and sighed.

“I’m sorry. This must be a sucky first day, huh?” He murmured. He really did feel bad for her, being thrown right into the thick of things. Allison simply shrugged. 

“I suppose one gets used to it?” She asked. Sammy almost smiled. She was tougher than he had thought. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” He cleared his throat. “How’re the lines coming along?”

“I finished practicing them right before you came in.”

“Alright then, let’s get started.”


	3. An Average Day at the Studio

Sammy walked into the band room, where the members of the band were practicing. He immediately noticed that two were missing. 

“Where are Mitch and Josh?” He asked loud enough to be heard over the instruments. The music screeched to a halt and the band members looked at him. Finally, one of them spoke up.

“Joey fired ‘em.” 

Sammy wasn’t surprised at that point, as Joey had been firing people right and left the past few weeks, but he sure was mad. 

Sammy had been the one to pick each and every member of the band, and each of them were hard-working and very talented. And this time Joey hadn’t even bothered to tell him himself, like with Susie. But saying anything to Joey wouldn’t do a thing, again, like with Susie. So he simply sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and told them to continue before exiting the band room and closing the door. At least 15 people had been fired in the last three weeks. Most of them had been maintenance and whatnot, Susie being the only one with a major role at the studio. 

He hadn’t been able to get ahold of her. She ignored his calls and letters, but Sammy supposed she was still very much angry. He was worried about her, though. If she was the only one, he wouldn’t be as worried, but he hadn’t been able to get ahold of anyone who’d been fired. All of them had been there one day and not shown up the next, with Joey announcing that they had been fired. He had been hiring people, too, to replace the people he fired for seemingly no reason. 

Because of the increasingly bad working conditions, people had been quitting as well. That was different. They announced that they were quitting, gathered their stuff, and left. Sammy had stayed in touch with several of them. What with the workload, pipes bursting, infirmary policy and others like it, and of course Joey just being a terrible boss in general, a lot of people had quit. He needed to calm himself down, and only one thing did that. Writing music. He made his way to his office and sat down at his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes. Normally a tune would pop into his head, but today his mind was quiet. He opened his eyes and looked around. 

Suddenly he saw it: a Bendy cutout propped up against the wall behind him. Grinning at him with that unnatural, empty smile. He hadn’t seen it when he came into the room because the open door had hidden it. He stomped over to it, picked it up, and threw it out the door into the hallway. Wally, who had been rummaging in the closet, turned his head at the commotion. He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it and turned back to the closet when Sammy glared at him. As Sammy went back into his office and closed the door, Wally muttered something that Sammy couldn’t hear, though he could probably guess what was said.

He sat back down in his chair and took a deep breath, closing his eyes once again. Those cutouts got on his nerves so badly that somehow he could tell when one was watching him. Which seemed like always. That smile... He wondered who put one in his office. It was probably Joey, who knew just how to get on his nerves. Or maybe Wally, who was always pulling one prank or another. With the cutout gone, a tune finally came to mind. He began to write, his many problems and worries fading into the background. When he was in a mood like this, could write for hours. 

Today he went uninterrupted for nearly the whole day, which was a very rare occurrence. He didn’t even look up from his work until many hours later, when his growling stomach wouldn’t permit him to work any longer. He raised his eyebrows as he glanced at the clock. There were a few hours until people would start to leave. Time passed so quickly when he was writing music, he got so focused that he often forgot to take breaks or eat. He stood up and stretched, then carefully placed the stack of papers into the large drawer of his desk on top of hundreds of others. Opening the smaller drawer, he pulled out the lunch he had packed. Today was one of the few days he had actually packed a lunch. He ate quickly, ready to get back to songwriting. There was a knock at the door. Groaning, he got up and opened it. 

“What do-“ he stopped, before him standing a man he’d never seen before. He wore a bowler hat, which admittedly looked quite fashionable. 

“Hello. Are you Sammy?” He asked, sounding somewhat hesitant. 

“Yeah, I am. Who are you?”

“I’m Jack Fain. I was just hired, Joey told me where to find you.” 

Sammy was rather perplexed. What had Joey hired him for? And normally they would be introduced in Joey’s office, Joey certainly was going to great lengths to avoid talking to him. 

“Uh, yeah. What did he hire you for, exactly?” 

“I’m a lyricist. I’m supposed to help you write songs? Joey didn’t, uh, tell you?” He looked confused. Sammy snorted. 

“Joey doesn’t really tell anyone anything. Did he say anything about you getting your own office?” Jack shook his head. 

“Just to come find you, right after giving me the grand tour.”

“Ah, great.. well...” Sammy thought for a moment. Joey really didn’t make anything easy. 

“Well, since you’ve already had the tour, I suppose you can work here just for the time being. I’ve got another spot I can set up shop.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier for you to work in your own office?”

“It really wouldn’t work for you to work in the spot I have planned, and it’s just temporary. Here-“ Sammy pulled out several of his own songs from the desk drawer.

“These need lyrics. Just go with whatever feels right to you. I’ll come to check in on you in a little bit. Oh, and if anyone comes looking for me, say that I’m the band room.”

Jack nodded. 

“Sounds good.” He sat down at the desk. “You sure you don’t mind?” Sammy shook his head. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be back to check in on you in an hour or two.”

Sammy stepped out of his office and closed the door behind him. He could have let Jack work in the band room closet, but he felt uncomfortable at the thought of anyone else being in there. It was _his_ sanctuary. He hadn’t been in there since the pipe had burst since the whole room had taken a very long time to fully dry out after being thoroughly cleaned. He walked into the band room, where the band was playing. It looked like they were recording as well, so he quietly slipped past and into the sanctuary. The room had a lingering smell of chemicals, as you had to use pretty strong stuff to get ink out of the floorboards. His desk was spotless, but there was no trace of the music sheets that had been ruined. No big deal, they were ruined after all. The pipe had been fixed, but he didn’t exactly trust it. He slid his desk over to the corner, as far away from the pipe as he could. At least then, if it burst again, his work wouldn’t be ruined. Probably. 

He sat down and tried to focus on writing music, and a tune slowly came to him. It was slow going though, as he was tired and emotionally drained, plus he had already written several songs that day. And of course, he had been interrupted, which didn’t help. Before he knew it, an hour had passed. He got up and headed to his office. The band room was empty, the band members had finished their songs and probably left early. That was fine though, Sammy didn’t have any more ready for them. The songs he had written that day were for Alice Angel, and Jack was busy writing lyrics for them now. He reached his office, only to find it empty as well. He walked over to his desk and found the songs, each of them having lyrics now written under the notes. 

“My word, he’s already finished?” Sammy mumbled, flipping through them. He heard loud conversation and laughter coming through the wall to his right, and he turned and looked through the window to the hall. Wally and Jack were walking down the hallway towards him, talking and laughing.

“Well, it looks like they hit it off.” He said under his breath, opening the door. “Wally, don’t you have work to do?” 

“I already finished sweeping and emptying the trash bins, I don’t have nothin' else to do!” He called. He held his broom in his hand. 

“Fine. Jack, good job on these lyrics, you got them done quickly.”

“Thanks!” He grinned. “Wally’s a real funny guy, you shoulda told me!”

Sammy rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, real funny. Hey Wally, you left your dustpan in my office.” He gestured toward the metal dustpan on the floor behind him.

“Oops.” Wally slipped past Sammy and picked it up, then went over to the janitors closet. He patted his pockets, then a bewildered look crossed his face. 

“Wally, where are your keys?” Sammy asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Just a sec, I had em right here.” He patted the rest of his pockets, then looked around. “Uhhh...” 

“Really? Again? You’d better find them, or you’re paying to replace them.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll find em, don’t worry...” he mused, peering into a trash bin. 

“I’ll help ya look. Is that alright, Sammy?” Jack questioned. Sammy heaved a sigh and nodded. 

“I suppose that’s fine since you’re done. I’m going to head out.” He grabbed his things and started walking down the hall. He heard Wally talking to Jack behind him.

“He normally stays waaaaay later. Later than me sometimes! He must either be ahead with his work or waaaay tired. I don’t blame him, I’m tired too! As soon as I find my keys, I’m outta here!” 

He heard Jack’s laugh echoing through the empty halls as he walked down the stairs and out the door. 


	4. Brought to Life

After Sammy had time to really think about it, he realized that Joey had been acting strange. He hadn’t thought too much of it at the time, but it had gotten pretty weird. Not telling him about firing his band members was almost normal for him, but he also didn’t tell him face to face that he hired Jack. But that wasn’t all, whenever Sammy went to turn in his songs, Joey yelled to slide them under the door. He _never_ did that, he usually told him to come in, then looked over his songs and point out anything he thought needed to be changed. It was infuriating. Other employees had mentioned that he seemed off as well. He had also heard a few more of Joey’s “motivational speeches” which were usually about dreaming and belief, but from what he had heard, they had gotten even more eccentric and nonsensical. For the most part, Sammy didn’t care about what Joey did. He didn't mind at all that he wasn't talking to him or changing his hard work. He hated the guy. But it also concerned him. Just what was going on? 

Sammy made his way to where the animators' desks were. He needed to talk to Henry, although Sammy didn’t know him all that well. He hadn’t talked to him much at first because he was a friend of Joey’s and they had started the studio together, but it soon became clear that he had much more common sense than Joey did. 

He found it strange that Henry didn’t even have his own office. Weren’t he and Joey both the ones who came up with the studio? If Sammy had to guess, he’d say that Henry probably had done more work in getting the studio off the ground than Joey ever did. He reached Henry’s desk. 

“Hey, Henry.” Henry turned to look at him.

“Oh, hi Sammy. How are you doing?” He sounded tired.

“I’m just great. But that’s not what I came to talk about.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“It’s Joey. He’s been... acting weird.” Sammy knew that if anyone knew what was going on, it’d be Henry.

“More weird than normal? How so?”

“Well, it’s not really one thing, but a combination of several. I confronted him about firing Suzy, and it escalated to the point where he just told me to get out. Hasn’t spoken to me since. He won’t even look at me when I turn in my songs, he tells me to slip them under the door.”

“Huh.”

“Not to mention that recently, he’s just been more unhinged than usual. Firing people for no reason, then no one hears from them since. I’ve worked here for years and he’s never done anything like that, and you’ve known him even longer.” Henry frowned at that statement.

“It’s been a while since I’ve really considered him a friend. I used to, but... sometimes I wonder if I ever knew him at all.” Henry said quietly. Sammy nodded, and Henry continued. "You are right, though. He has been more off his rocker than usual."

“Could you at least keep an eye on him? I obviously couldn’t care less that he isn’t talking to me, in fact, I’m enjoying it. But it is weird, and Joey acting weird can’t exactly be a good thing.”

“Well, I would, but...” Henry looked at the ground. It was then that Sammy realized that he held a cardboard box in his arms.

“...You’re quitting.” Sammy said in disbelief. Henry nodded. 

“I’ve been planning to do so for a while now, but the time never seemed right. I figured that if I waited too long, I’d never get out of here.” Sammy was about to ask why, but he very well knew the answer.

“Well then, I wish you luck finding a new job. Unemployment is really high right now.” Henry nodded.

“Thanks... I’ll need it. But you really should quit too. Joey’s already an atrocious boss, and now he’s been acting differently. I’m worried about everyone working here. _Something’s happening, and it isn’t good_.” Henry said the last part with absolute conviction. Sammy believed him.

“Honestly, I want to quit too. Who doesn’t? But I’m worried about finding another job. Even if I can find one, what are the chances it would be something to do with writing music? I’ll quit eventually though, I might just go crazy if I have to work here another few years.” Henry nodded understandingly.

“Good luck with Joey. I’ve already said goodbye to the other animators, and I don’t really want to cause a scene. So as Wally so loves to say, I’m outta here.” 

Sammy was distracted the whole day. This studio really was falling apart. Everyone was tense, pipes were bursting all over the place, the elevator had gotten stuck multiple times, and there were probably about half the amount of workers there normally would be, most of them either having been fired or quit. Or, of course, gotten sick from the ink. Ink poisoning was no joke, it could easily land you in the hospital. Sammy was surprised he hadn’t gotten it yet. 

Sammy hated distractions. He had a less-than-productive day, especially with people coming in to pull the pump switch every five minutes. Apparently a major pipe burst. He couldn’t care less about the ink spill as long as he could still do what he needed to do, but the people coming in and out was driving him crazy, like most other days. Henry was right. This really was no place to be working. After someone interrupted for the eighth time in half an hour, he was ready to bang his head on the desk. He decided right then and there that he’d quit by the end of the week. In fact, he’d start looking for a new job the minute he got home. This thought made him feel a bit better. 

Finally, he could go home. He decided to head home earlier than usual, just an hour or two after most everyone else had left. As he left his office, he heard a strange sound. Banging. The sound echoed throughout the empty studio. He had heard Wally make his rounds earlier, he always cleaned the floors from the top to bottom, and he had already heard him clean the music department. By now, he was probably a few floors down. But who else could it be? The sounds were repetitive. It wasn’t just Wally dropping something. He turned from the exit and started looking for the source of the sound. 

Following the noise, he made his way upstairs to the first floor and turned to another hallway, where he stopped in his tracks. He stared, not even able to comprehend what he was looking at. In the center of the room at the end of the hallway was an operating table, and strapped to the operating table was... a life-sized version of the cartoon Boris the Wolf. It was looking at him with wide pie-cut eyes. Its ears looked droopy and melty, his nose seemed to be just a splat of ink on its snout, and it was missing the characteristic white gloves of a cartoon character. But even as deformed as it was, it was an honest-to-goodness living cartoon character. 

“What the fu-” Sammy started. Suddenly, he heard footsteps echoing behind him.

“Crap.” He looked around for somewhere to hide. He sprinted over to the other door in the room, only to find it locked. There weren’t any other hiding spots in the room, and whoever was coming would turn the corner in mere moments. 

It was then he noticed the hole above Boris’ head. There looked like there were grates he could grab onto, and although it was dripping ink, it was the only place to hide. He made a split-second decision and started to climb over the operating table. He tried not to hurt the toon, using only the restraints as footholds. 

“I’m sorry.” He muttered as he climbed up into the hole. He was lucky that the rest of the studio was so quiet, he had heard the footsteps from pretty far away.

Just as he made it up, he heard Joey’s voice. 

“Sorry about that, had to make sure Wally was on one of the lower levels! Sammy will be in his office, but I didn’t want to check up on him. It’d only make him suspicious!”

Joey said in his loud, charismatic voice. 

“Now, where were we?”

Sammy was in a very uncomfortable position, with his feet on the wall, gripping the grate with his hands while the sharp metal dug into his flesh, and ink dripping onto the back of his head and running down his face and neck. He had a perfect view of the toon, and whether that was a good thing or not, only time would tell. He couldn’t quite see Joey, but he could sure hear him. The toon looked up at him. The poor thing was terrified. It was trembling so hard...

“Now calm down, this won’t hurt.” Joey paused, then added, “Well, I suppose that’s a lie, isn’t it?” Much to his horror, he watched as Joey plunged a surgical knife into Boris’ chest. The living cartoon struggled as Joey pushed it deeper. Then the toon slowly stopped, glanced up at Sammy, and its eyes became Xs, like it was in some demented children’s show. 

Sammy squeezed his eyes shut. It was clear the creature had emotions of some sort, it had clearly been petrified. And then that last look it had given Sammy... its eyes had been so full of pain and despair. Then it had died, right there below him at the hands of Joey.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it? Ugh, let’s get this over with.” Joey grumbled. He sounded mildly annoyed, as though he hadn’t just murdered something. Then Sammy watched as Joey Drew began to cut open its chest. The bright yellow rubber gloves he was wearing were now completely black, ink spurting from Boris’s chest. Sammy wanted to throw up. He was shaking from the effort of holding himself up, his body aching. It would only be so long until he couldn’t do so any longer. Hopefully Joey left _before_ then, and he didn’t look up _until_ then. 

But Joey Drew wasn’t done.

If it was even possible at this point, Sammy was even more mortified as he started to snap the ribs with a bone cutter. They cracked and crunched loudly, and Joey pulled them so they were sticking straight out of its chest. They made a spine-chilling noise all while he pulled at them, nonplussed. 

Sammy, on the other hand, was absolutely nauseated. He barely managed to keep himself from throwing up. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself not to look at the scene below. If he hadn’t been in a life-or-death situation, he would have vomited. But he was certain that if Joey caught him, he would kill him too. Sammy always knew that Drew was off his rocker, but this took crazy to a whole new level. 

“Here we are!” There was a tone of satisfaction to Joey’s voice as Sammy heard a loud squelch below him. 

“Perfect! Now don’t you worry Boris, I’ll get you taken care of in a minute, so don’t go anywhere!” He laughed, and Sammy could hear footsteps getting quieter. He opened his eyes and waited another second before starting to climb down. Boris’ head was lolling to the side, his tongue hanging out. There was a large ink stain down the front of his overalls, under where his chest had been ripped open. Sammy tried not to look as he scrambled over him. 

“I’m so sorry...”

He speed-walked toward the exit, trying not to look like a frightened animal. As long as he didn’t look like he had just seen a ghost, Joey would have no reason to think he’d seen anything. Boris was in the opposite direction of the exit after all, why would Sammy go that way? He had almost reached the door when…

“Hey Sammy, leaving so soon?”

Sammy froze, forced a natural look on his face, and turned. Joey was standing there, looking relaxed, his arms crossed over his chest. There was something in his hand...

“Yeah. Finished my all songs before the deadline, they’re on your desk.” Sammy lied. 

“Ah, see? And you said they’d take a few more days! What did I tell you about belief?” Joey grinned. It certainly seemed like he didn’t suspect anything...

“How’d you get so covered in ink?”

"Oh-" Sammy was taken off guard, he had forgotten how much ink he was covered in. He wiped some of the ink off his cheek with the back of his sleeve and resumed his sarcastic nature. 

“How do you think?”

“Well I figured it was a pipe, but there’s only a switch in your office, and you weren’t in that silly little back closet, so where were you?”

Sammy racked his brain for some excuse and calmly said, “Wally seemed to have dropped his keys right outside my door, so I brought them to him on one of the lower levels. Pipe burst in one of the hallways while I was on my way back. The elevator took so long getting me back up that he’s probably already cleaned it all up.” Sammy shook his head, looking annoyed. 

“Now, mind if I go get all this ink off my skin so I don’t end up in the hospital?” Joey nodded.

“Of course! Can’t have you getting sick, now, huh?” Sammy found Joey’s words slightly strange, but didn’t think much of it. He knew that Joey didn’t care for anyone else’s well-being. But he wasn’t about to say anything about it after what he had just seen. He also knew his lies would fall apart the minute Joey talked to Wally, but that was fine. He wasn’t planning on ever stepping foot in this studio again. 

He turned back to the door, his hand on the knob. The strike was so sudden Sammy didn’t even have time to register it.

He heard the loud, sickening crack, but he didn’t even think about it as simply collapsed onto the floor, his mind unable to comprehend what had just happened. Joey knelt down and grabbed his hair, lifting his head. 

“You’d never bring Wally his keys.” Joey sneered, his face inches from Sammy’s. He noticed the small metal pipe in his hand.

_Crap..._

Everything went dark.


	5. Dreams Come True

“Ngh…”

Slowly, Sammy began to wake, his mind still heavy with thick fog. The feeling of soreness slowly came to his aching body. His eyes squinted shut at the horrible, stinging headache he had. Sammy couldn’t recall what had taken place before he lost consciousness. Where was he? What happened? Why did his head hurt so badly?

He went to massage his forehead in an attempt to calm the pain that throbbed through his head… but then stopped.

He couldn’t move his arms. Actually, now that Sammy thought about it, he couldn’t really move much of anything at all.

Slowly, Sammy opened his eyes, squinting. Once his vision cleared, he examined his surroundings.

Everything around him was nothing but wood and a strange clanking and humming sound was heard from behind him, like... the Ink Machine… He was still in the studio?

Suddenly, the memories of Sammy’s previous encounter came flooding back to him, and his heart-rate quickened. Once again, he went to move but realized that something was holding him back from doing so. Looking down, it became apparent that he was tied to a wooden chair. 

Joey stepped into the room. 

“Ah! You’re awake! I was beginning to think I had hit you too hard.” 

“Joey, what the fuck?” Sammy demanded. 

“You’re a terrible liar, that’s what!” Joey burst out laughing. “You really think I’d believe that you brought Wally his keys? You’dve just left them on the floor where you saw ‘em!” Joey laughed hard for another few seconds, then wiped a fake tear from his eye. Sammy knew his words were the truth, for once.

“What _was_ that?” 

“What was what?”

“The... the cartoon.”

“Why, that was Boris of course! I thought you’d have worked here long enough to recognize the wolf.”

Sammy grit his teeth.

“What was it though?”

“My creation. I gave it life! It wasn’t perfect though, so something had to be done.”

“And that’s why you _murdered_ it?” Sammy spat. “Because it wasn’t _perfect_?”

“Oh, relax. It wasn’t murder.” Joey sounded somewhat annoyed at the accusation. 

“Enough questions. I have one for you. You know Thomas Connor?”

“...yes,” Sammy said, biting back a sarcastic reply.

“Well, when he figured out what I was doing, I gave him an option. The same one I’m about to give you.” 

“Which is?” Sammy asked warily. 

“Either help me, or...” Joey shrugged.

“Or?”

“Or I use you for the Ink Machine. I’m still perfecting the process, after all.”

Sammy felt nauseous. He could only imagine what that meant. Surely it wouldn’t be pleasant. But how could he help Joey? Even if he didn’t care about most of the other people at the studio, he absolutely loathed Joey. It didn’t leave him much of a choice.

“I'd rather drown in ink than help you.”

“Very well." Joey gave him a smile that sent a chill down his spine. "Thomas didn’t really have a say in the matter, but because I already have him, I don’t need you. Although it would have been nice. Ah well! What can be done? At least you’ll help what happened to Susie not happen to anyone else.” Joey stepped backward, placing his hand on a lever.

“Wait!” Sammy blurted before Joey could move. He rolled his eyes. 

“What, change your mind already?”

“Susie? What happened to Susie? What did you do to her?!” Sammy struggled to free himself.

“I gave her exactly what she wanted! I made her dreams come true! She didn’t believe enough, that was the only problem. Her fault, not mine!” Joey smirked. 

“What. Did. You. Do!?” Sammy grunted, trying to move the chair. Joey stepped toward him, placing one hand firmly on the back of the chair. 

“She told me that she had a connection with Alice. That Alice was a part of her. She was desperate. So I asked her if she wanted to bring Alice to life. What do you think she said?” He asked in a low voice.

Sammy already knew the answer. Susie really had been desperate. But what did he mean by all this? Joey was a lunatic.

“She said yes!” Joey shouted. “So I used the machine to make her dreams come true! And they do, dreams do come true!” He finally lowered his voice once more.

“Although, maybe not for you.” Joey gave him one last devilish smile before stepping backwards and pulling the lever. 

The ink machine roared, ink cascading from the spout positioned directly above him. The slimy black liquid covered him immediately. It felt like boiling water scalding his skin, something ink was not supposed to feel like. The ink squeezed around him, causing Sammy to cry out and gasp for breath. It squeezed harder, and he felt several bones snap, the white-hot pain causing him to grind his teeth together.

Once the broken shards of bones broke through the skin, the ink was quick to enter the fresh wounds. It pulsed through his body, tearing through the muscle and tendons.

Tears formed in Sammy’s eyes as it then forced itself into his mouth and down his throat. He gagged at the rancid taste and tried to breathe in, only for ink to enter his lungs. He struggled desperately to breathe, to taste fresh air instead of the tang of ink.

Sammy’s body then began to heave up the contents of his stomach in an attempt to purge it of the atrocious amounts of ink he was forced to swallow, but that was the only thing he could do. He wasn’t permitted time to gasp for the air he desperately needed, as the ink immediately closed up his airway again after his stomach was emptied. Sammy closed his eyes as the ink crawled over them – a vain attempt to prevent it from burrowing under his eyelids and forcing its way deep into his skull.

It felt as though the torment would never end. His body was broken and deprived of oxygen as the ink continued to tear him apart.

The last thing he thought before finally falling unconscious was just how right Henry had been.

~~~

Wally stepped backward from the wall, eyes wide. He had heard Joeys mad rant, the machine turn on, Sammy’s screams and gagging and retching. He had heard it all. 

“I-I’m outta here,” he said shakily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wally better get outta there.


	6. Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a few days since I last posted. Anyway, here's the next chapter! It's a little short, but hopefully still enjoyable :P

He couldn’t see or feel anything, but he could hear screams and cries. They whirled around him like a hurricane, excruciatingly loud and unending. Was his voice one of them? He wished he could cover his ears, block them out somehow, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move anything, or maybe he didn’t even have a body. In fact, it was difficult just to keep his thoughts coherent. It felt as though his consciousness itself was struggling to stay in one piece. Part of his mind wondered how long he would be able to stay like this until he completely lost himself.

Suddenly he felt a tug in the pit of his stomach. Or where his stomach should be. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant feeling. He felt his mind begin to separate from the others, the wailing voices slowly becoming dimmer. Then he began to feel, but immediately wished he couldn’t. He was freezing cold, damp, and every inch of him was in an immense amount of pain. 

Everything felt... wrong. 

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong_. The word seemed to echo in his mind. He groaned, but the only sound that was produced from the action was a raspy gurgle. 

He opened his eyes, but couldn’t see a thing through the ink that he was covered in. He made an attempt to move his arms. It hurt, but he succeeded nevertheless and wiped his eyes. It didn’t do much besides smear the ink more so. Strangely though, the ink didn’t sting his eyes. But was anything really strange at this point? He lifted his head slowly and blinked a few more times, and was just able to make out his surroundings. He had been lying face down in a puddle of ink. He glanced upward to see someone standing over him, staring down at him. His vision was blurry though, and he was unable to make out anything else. 

“Well now, you’ve most certainly seen better days!”

The loud voice echoed off the walls. It seemed so familiar, but how? The man crouched down and examined him.

“That didn’t go quite as well as I thought it would. Were you even trying, Sammy?”

Sammy? Was that him? What was he talking about? What was going on? When he tried to voice these thoughts, all that came out was a gurgle, like before. 

“Oh, shush. Thomas!”

The latter part was directed to another man whom he had not seen, standing off to the side. The other man, presumably Thomas, stepped forward. The name sounded familiar somehow. 

“Get him outta here.” The first man said. Thomas hesitated for a moment, before replying with a curt nod. He then stepped toward him, reached down, and dug his gloved hand into his back. Quite literally, as Thomas’ entire hand was inside the ink that made up his back. It wasn’t pleasant, but it didn’t cause him any more pain than he was already feeling. Then Thomas picked him up, his inky body staying together as he lifted him off the floor, albeit a small puddle that remained. He struggled, but there wasn’t much he could do. Thomas carried him out of the room, down a few halls, and into another, while he dripped ink onto the wood floors. Thomas put him down on a metal operating table, strapping his arms and torso the best he could, with him being made of ink and whatnot. He avoided his gaze all the while. When he was finished he looked up at him.

“Sammy, I...” he seemed like he wanted to say something more, his mouth open slightly, several conflicting emotions written across his face. That name, directed toward him again. Was that his name? Why couldn’t he remember his own name? Thomas closed his mouth and turned away, walking out the door and closing it behind him without a second glance. 

Sammy looked around, the room seeming very familiar. Everything is so familiar, but why isn’t there a single memory in his mind? It frustrated him. He didn’t know where he was or even who, but he knew that nothing good was going to come of being strapped to an operating table. He tried to move his arms, but the straps held fast. 

But wait, Thomas had stuck his hand right into his ink. Maybe he could take that one step further... well, it was worth a try. Sammy pushed his arm against the strap, continuing even though the strap wouldn’t give. It wasn’t the strap that he hoped would give. He kept pushing, and felt the strap dig into his ink. Deeper, past where the bone should be, then, with a glop, his wrist was free. Sammy felt a rush of relief mixed with excitement as he pushed his other arm through, then with a bit more difficulty, his torso. Lacking legs, he used his arms to drag himself off the metal table. He fell to the floor with a splat. He looked around again. The door Thomas had gone in and out of was closed, but there was a long open hallway in front of him. The only thing was, it’d take forever to drag himself down it, and then where? Sammy looked around for anything that would help him. He saw a hole in the ceiling above him, but there was no way that he’d be able to make it up. He finally decided that he’d head down the hallway, but first, he had to try something. 

He’d been able to push through the straps without falling apart, so _just how far could he take it?_ He directed his attention to the wooden floorboards beneath him. Slowly, he began to push his inky hands into the floor. It was significantly more difficult to go through than the leather straps, but he seemed to be making progress. His ink wormed through the slight cracks in the floorboards, which still wasn’t the most pleasant feeling in the world, but it didn’t hurt. 

He continued until his arms were through, then closed his eyes and pushed his head into the floor as well. It took quite a bit of effort, but he soon was all the way through. He opened his eyes just in time to see the ground rushing up to meet him. Sammy gurgled in surprise before landing with a sickening splat. His mind was fuzzy for a few minutes, and the anguished cries started to rise up again. Sammy squeezed his eyes shut, and slowly they dimmed to a quiet buzz. 

He finally opened his eyes again and found himself to be little more than a puddle. No more dropping through floors, he noted. Slowly, his ink began to reform into what served as his body. He looked up at the wall in front of him, finding the words: 

**“** **Music Department**

**Director Sammy Lawrence** **”**

Sammy stared at it for several moments. He knew, _knew_ that he’d been here before, and quite a bit as well. That was his name, right there on the wall, wasn’t it? He had been the director of the Music Department. That sounded right, but what was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he remember anything at all? He dug deeper, trying to grasp any semblance of memory before it faded away like a wisp of smoke in the wind, but it was no use. The only that he gained from the attempt was a pounding headache. 

Suddenly, there was a commotion on the floor above him. He heard voices that began to crescendo into shouts, then several bangs and thumps, almost like... a struggle. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t like he could do anything. As the cacophony continued above him, he heard footsteps coming his way. He looked around, but there was nowhere to hide that he could quickly get to. He really wished he had legs. Instead, he dragged himself a few feet to his right, until he was right in front of the wall. 

Now that he had had a bit of practice, pushing his inky body through the wall was a bit easier. It took him significantly less time as well. Then, he made it through, finding himself in the narrow space between the walls. Turning, he discovered that he could see through the cracks in the wall quite well, while still remaining hidden. 

The footsteps grew louder until a man rounded the corner. It was Thomas. He was speed walking whilst muttering to himself. Thomas passed him, heading into another hallway. 

Sammy was about to sigh with relief, but it was then that he realized: he hadn’t been breathing whatsoever. Sammy took a deep breath and found that he could if he tried, but he didn’t need to. Everything that was going on was making his head spin. He couldn’t say a word or remember a thing, he didn’t have legs, or a proper body really, he was literally walking through walls, and on top of that, he didn’t need to breathe. 

  
_Is this all some horrible hallucination?_ Sammy tried to convince himself that it was. He leaned back and let himself relax, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. At least he had one. He took a few deep breaths in some attempt to calm himself, then opened his eyes slowly. In relaxing almost completely, he found that most of his body had melted into a puddle. _Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing,_ part of his mind told him. He allowed himself to continue to relax, regardless of the consequences. Maybe it really was all just a dream, some horrible nightmare cooked up by a mix of stress, sleep deprivation, and ink fumes. If he just kept relaxing, he would eventually wake up in his own home, wherever the heck that was. Yeah, that sounded right. That was it.

That had to be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canonically, I don't think they all start as Searchers like how Sammy does in this, but I thought it'd be more interesting if I wrote it like that.


	7. Old Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, but don't worry. The next one will be much more exciting...

Sammy couldn’t feel his arms or torso anymore, and he felt his head sink into the puddle as well. He didn’t really notice though, he was rather detached from what was happening, too caught up in his own thoughts to pay any mind. He also hadn’t noticed the anguished cries start up again, a very dim buzz at first, but as they crescendoed louder and louder Sammy snapped out of it. He had found himself sinking deeper into the ink, down, down, down even though the floor was supposed to be there. 

He forced his body back together. It took more effort than when he had fallen through the floor. He couldn’t keep doing things like this. Like it or not, this was real. Nothing was going to change that.

With a bit of effort, Sammy got up. As he looked down at his inky mess of a body, he felt a pang of sadness mixed with anger and frustration. He wasn’t supposed to be like this, he knew that much. Maybe, just maybe, it would be a bit easier if he actually had legs... He could go through walls, so who’s to say he couldn’t change the shape of his ink? 

Sammy closed his eyes and concentrated. In his mind's eye he pictured the way he was supposed to be. A proper body. Similar to how the two men looked. He felt the ink in his torso begin to move, and resisting the urge to open his eyes, he continued to concentrate. He went from the bottom up, picturing feet, legs, hips, stomach, chest, neck... he paused when he got to face. He hadn’t even remembered his name, let alone his face. He could feel the ink start to revert to its original position from his lack of concentration. He shook off the fact that he didn’t know his own face. Besides, how much detail could one expect from this rancid ink?

Sammy opened his eyes. He was standing in the wall space now, and from a significantly higher perspective. Looking down, he was surprised to find a slightly more normal-looking body from the torso down. He hadn’t really expected it to work. Gingerly, he lifted one leg, then the other. He held onto the wall as he took an unsteady step. He felt relieved. Maybe things could be just a shred more normal now. But he  _ would  _ be just a tad bit more comfortable if he had some clothes. He decided that he would look for some while he figured out what to do next. 

Peering through the cracks in the wall and finding no one, he pushed through. It took him even less time, a mere few seconds now. With more practice he knew he could be even quicker. Sammy started to walk, only faltering a few times. Actually having legs let him get around much faster, and he knew he’d never take them for granted again. He cast a glance at the Music Department sign as he passed it. If he was the director, then he had to have an office. And if he had an office, he might find some personal belongings, some clue to who he was, or if he was lucky, some clothes. 

Sammy wasn’t quite sure which way to go. The place was huge, how was he supposed to find his office? He picked a hall at random and started down it. He tried each door that lined the hallway, but they were all locked. He was trying the handle of yet another locked door when something at the end of the hall caught his eye. Turning his attention from the door, he walked toward it. In front of him was a window into another room, with a sign above it. “Office of Sammy Lawrence, Music Department Director”, it read. That was easier than he had thought.

Looking through the window, he saw that the room was a pretty good size. It had a desk, shelves on the walls, and- he felt a twinge of disgust when he laid eyes on a large pump control switch on the wall. He wasn’t quite sure at first why he hated it so much, but it sure was big and ugly.

He turned and tried the door. Locked, surprise surprise. But he wasn’t too worried. He easily pushed through the wood between the door and the panel of glass. After he was through, he stepped over to the desk and laid an inky hand on the back of the chair. He had spent many hours in that chair, he knew that much. He pulled it out from the desk and sat down, taking a deep breath before sighing heavily. He was hoping to find some answers in here, but the room was rather barren. It was then that he noticed the desk drawers. Hoping earnestly that they wouldn’t be empty, he opened the one on the top slowly. He was disappointed at what he saw, because while it wasn’t empty, it didn’t give him many answers. There was a stack of plain white papers, two sealed bottles of ink, and several fountain pens.

Opening the bottom drawer, he froze, staring downward. The other drawer was full of hand-written music sheets, stuffed to the absolute brim. He pulled out several, flipping through them. As he hummed the notes to himself, he saw himself sitting at that very desk, laboring over those songs. Sometimes he was sitting at a different desk, in a different room. The memories flashed by, Sammy struggling to hold onto them before they faded into nothingness. Hadn’t he heard somewhere that music was best associated with memory? He continued to flip through the songs, ignoring the fact that the ink from his hands were staining the pages. He dropped them and leaned back, eyes closed, basking in what memories that resurfaced. He couldn’t remember much, but he knew that he’d been immersed in his work, writing songs with a passion that few possessed. The songs in front of him... who had he written them for? He worked here, he wasn’t just doing this for fun. He saw more images flash through his mind: a cartoon character with a sinister smile. Cutouts, posters, cartoons. He had seen him several times just walking through the studio for 5 minutes. 

_ Bendy. _

Why was he everywhere? Why had he spent so many hours writing songs in honor of this cartoon character? 

He had been so focused on his thoughts that he hadn’t heard the door open. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions about what's going on feel free to ask them in the comments. I hope I'm doing a good job of explaining stuff, but I'm open to all questions and/or criticism.


	8. A Friendly Face

Sammy heard a muffled gasp coming from just a few feet behind him. Jumping up, (and nearly falling out of his chair in the process) he whirled around to find himself face-to-face with another man, one he hadn’t seen before. He was much younger than the other two. The man scrambled backward and landed on his bottom, eyes wide, mouth gaping open. 

“Who-” The word was raspy and hoarse, but Sammy was surprised he wasn’t gurgling incoherently anymore. He cleared his throat and continued.

“Who are you?” He asked warily, but still relieved that he could even form a full sentence. Regardless, he was ready to disappear into the walls if this person decided to be hostile. 

Suddenly, a look of hesitant recognition crossed the man’s face.

“Son of a nutcracker, Sammy, is that you?” The man asked, looking now more shocked than frightened. Sammy frowned.

“Yes, I think so anyway, but why does everyone seem to know my name? I’ve never seen you before in my life.” 

The man’s expression changed again, this time to one of confusion.

“Seriously? You don’t know who I am? I’m Wally! We’ve worked together for years! I’m the janitor that you find annoying, forgetful, and clumsy, even though only one of those things is true!” Wally blurted, hoping to see some form of recollection in his expression. He was met by a blank stare.

“Sorry, I... I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” Wally’s face fell. 

“But I didn’t even know my own name until a little while ago.”

Wally seemed to lighten up at this. 

“Well, at least it isn’t because I was too boring then!” He grinned. Then, finally picking himself up off the ground, he took a step forward to examine Sammy. 

“Jumping Jehoshaphat, what happened to you?” Sammy have him a half-shrug. 

“I don’t really know. I just kind of...” He trailed off as he remembered the agonized cries and everything else he had experienced before he had a body. Wally didn’t seem to notice his hesitation, or maybe he just ignored it.

“Well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say a pipe burst right over ya or somethin’! But…” Wally hesitated before continuing. “There’s something I need to tell you... I heard-”

Suddenly, Wally seemed to remember something, as his eyes widened and his breathing sped up rapidly.

“Joey! Joey’s gonna find me!” 

“Who?” asked Sammy, instinctively taking a step back at the sudden outburst. 

“Joey-flippin-Drew. Formally worst boss of the year, currently a lunatic who wants my head!”

“Why?” 

“It’s about what I was gonna say earlier. I heard... I heard him do something to ya, ok?” Wally was trembling. 

“A-And I ran into him and h-he-“ 

As Wally stammered, Sammy suddenly saw something in his peripheral, a man turning the corner. He was still at the end of the hallway and hadn’t seen them yet, at least, Sammy hoped not. He grabbed Wally by the collar and pulled him roughly to the floor.

“Ow, dag nabbit why w-” Sammy put his hand over Wally’s mouth. Wally pushed it away, spitting out ink, but he seemed to understand and kept quiet. 

“Is the door locked?” asked Sammy hissed under his breath.

“What?” 

“Is. The. Door. Locked.”

Wally shook his head.

“Do you have keys? You said you were a janitor.” Sammy inquired, slightly louder than before. Wally rolled his eyes, then, seeming to remember that Sammy didn’t remember him, he pressed his lips together and just shook his head. Sammy grit his teeth, or would have, if he had any. Instead, he let out a frustrated growl. 

“Does this door lock from the outside or the inside?” 

“The inside, you refused to work in a room you couldn’t lock from the inside because, ya know, interruptions.” Wally replied.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Huffed Sammy as he crept toward the door, staying under the window and out of sight. Reaching the door, he reached up and locked it. 

He wondered how the man hadn’t reached them yet, then it occurred to him that he was probably checking every room. But hadn’t the other rooms been locked?

“Wally, does he have keys?” 

“Who, Joey? Probably.” Well that was a problem.

“Damn it,” cursed Sammy. Wally gave him a disapproving look.

“Really? Do we really have ti-” it was Wally’s turn to shush Sammy as the footsteps grew nearer. Sammy heard the jingle of keys, then a door open. Not theirs, fortunately. 

“Wally, get up and pull the desk in front of the door.”

“What if he sees me?!”

“Would you rather him waltz right in? I’d help, but I have no idea if he knows I’ve escaped, so I can’t let him see me. Hurry!” Wally complied, quickly getting to his feet and beginning to drag the desk across the room. He glanced in the direction of the window, then focused his attention of moving the heavy desk. 

“That’s Joey alright.” Wally said through gritted teeth. “Crap, he sees me.” The desk was barely halfway across the room. With a groan, Sammy jumped up and started to help Wally push. They got the desk in position just as Joey unlocked the door. He pounded the door angrily for several seconds, but the desk was too heavy. Joey stepped in front of the window and began saying something, but neither Wally nor Sammy could hear a thing. Sammy’s office was soundproof.

Wally, with a grin, pointed at his ear, then shrugged. Joey’s face turned beet red, something that would have been funny had they not been so on edge. He pounded a fist on the glass before turning and stomping down the hallway. 

“Now what?” Wally asked, breaking the silence.

“We don’t have much time before he comes back.”

“Well he couldn’t get in the first time, what makes you think he can—"

“With help, you moron.” Sammy grumbled. 

“Oh. That makes sense. So where we gonna hide then? He knows we’re here.”

“Again, we don’t have much time. Help me move the desk.” They moved the desk out of the way and Sammy opened the door. 

“Well, you’re the one that knows your way around.” Sammy said. He stepped to the side, allowing Wally to go first. “After you.”

“What?! I don’t wanna go first! What if we run into Joey??”

“First, keep your voice down! Second, I don’t know my way around here! I have no idea how I managed to find my office in the first place.” 

“Fine. How about we go the band room closet? You liked to work there before... you know.” Sammy paused for a moment. Wasn't that his... his sanctuary?

“We need someplace that isn’t a dead end. Preferably an exit.” 

“Guess you’re right,” Wally admitted. 

“Well hey, there’s some stairs to an exit just at the end of this hall. Should we go for ‘em?” 

“They sound pretty close, but that’s exactly where I’d wait if I were Joey.” 

“Do we have a choice?” Asked Wally, raising an eyebrow.

“Guess not... We’re going to have to be fast.”

Without another word, Wally took off running down the hallway. Taking a moment to roll his eyes, Sammy followed. 

They made it to the stairs without incident. It was rather dark, though. As they were walking down the stairs, Sammy heard a splash and nearly ran into Wally, who had stopped. 

“Sufferin’ succotash, this dad gum ink can go suck eggs!” Wally spat.

“Wow, Wally. Wow.” Sammy snorted.

“Shut your pie hole. The stairs are flooded.”

“Are you really going to let three feet of ink keep you from-"

“Getting outta here? Not a chance.” Wally finished, taking another step forward.

“Hurry,” urged Sammy.

“I’m goin, I’m goin.” Wally said, annoyed. Sammy took a step forward, landing ankle-deep in ink. As he did so, he was nearly knocked over by the whirling voices that were all around him, screaming, crying, wailing, shrieking, sobbing. It was all Sammy could hear, all he could feel, all he could think. He wasn’t sure if he had cried out or not, but they started to dim slightly as he felt himself being pulled from the ink. 

“Sammy.” The voice was louder than the others. Whose was it?

“Sammy!” He opened his eyes, not realizing they had been closed, and gasped. Wally was crouching over him, Sammy laying on the wooden stairs. 

“Sammy, you ok? What happened?”

“I-" his voice was rough, hoarse. He swallowed.

“I don’t know. But I clearly can’t leave that way.”

“Well c’mon then, let’s find a different exit.”

“Wally, there’s no reason for you to not leave. I’ll be fine, but you need to leave before Joey finds you.” Wally frowned.

“I ain’t leaving without you.” 

“Listen, you have to trust me. I’ll be okay. You need to leave. Please, Wally.” Wally opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off. 

“There you are, Wally! And Sammy, too! This must be my lucky day!” Sammy craned his head upward, only to see that the owner of the stomach-wrenchingly familiar voice was none other than Joey Drew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing the dialogue between Sammy and Wally. I love them both so much ^^


	9. I Don't Wanna Interrupt, but the Door is Locked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't posted in a while, I've been really busy these past few weeks.

Sammy felt a wave of nausea rose in his throat, his heart skipping a beat. According to Wally, Joey was the reason he was like this. Was he going to do the same to Wally? As the nausea began to subside, a burning anger replaced it. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Wally, get to the exit and leave. I’ll take care of Drew.” Sammy said under his breath, not taking his eyes off Joey. He was still standing at the top of the stairs, one hand on his hip, the other holding a rusty, dented pipe. 

“I can’t-“

“Don’t argue, Wally. Get outta here.” Fortunately Wally didn’t protest further, and Sammy heard splashes in the ink behind him. Sammy slowly got up, hands clenched in inky fists. 

“Well now Sammy, you and Wally seem to be getting along for once! Ha, maybe I even did you a favor-“ Joey was suddenly cut off by a furious Sammy.

“Don’t! Just don’t!” Sammy spat. “You-you turned me into THIS! You’re the reason I’m like this!” Sammy shouted as he gestured to himself and made his way up the stairs. He was about to say more when Joey interrupted him.

“What makes you think that?” His tone was one of amusement.

“Wally told me everything! He-“

“And how do you know anything that he told you was true?” Sammy paused for a moment, and Joey mistook his hesitation for doubt.

“How do you know he isn’t... a liar?” Joey asked, every word smooth as honey, yet Sammy knew better. He slowly shook his head.

“No...” Sammy glared straight into Joey’s icy blue eyes. “You’re the liar.”

“I, uh, don’t wanna to interrupt, but the door’s locked.” A quiet voice piped up from behind Sammy. _Of course it is_ , he thought. Joey seemed to hold back a chuckle. 

“Of course it is! You really think I’d-”

“Do you ever shut up?” Growled Sammy as he bounded up the stairs two at a time, a half-baked plan in mind. Joey seemed actually surprised as Sammy suddenly attacked him, nearly knocking him over. He quickly recovered and swung the pipe, connecting hard with Sammy’s shoulder. Sammy hissed in pain as he reeled backwards, nearly falling down the stairs. Catching himself, he glanced down the stairwell for a split second to see Wally knee-deep in the ink, staring at them, before he whirled back to face Joey. Just in time, too, as Joey swung at him again. Sammy was ready this time and ducked, the pipe flying harmlessly through the air just above his head. The third time Joey swung, he grabbed the pipe. Joey was surprisingly strong for an older man. Straining, Sammy managed one hard shove and Joey stumbled backward toward the Music Department sign. 

“Wally, come on! I don’t know how long I can keep this up.” Sammy panted. He heard footsteps behind him, coming up the stairs, then running down one of the halls. Hopefully toward the exit. While Sammy was distracted for a split second, Joey shoved him, hard, causing him to lose his balance. As tried to regain said balance and keep from losing his feet, Joey swung once more, and this time Sammy was too slow. The pipe connected with the side of his skull. Sammy had one fleeting feeling of panic as his mind started to fog over and his knees buckled beneath him. As he fell to the ground, Joey started to stride in the direction Wally had gone. 

“I’ll be right back for you, Sammy.” His voice was laced with annoyance, even frustration now, rather than amusement. 

_Doubt it,_ was Sammy’s last coherent thought as he slowly sunk through the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's pretty short and kinda over-dramatic, I just wanted to post another chapter.


	10. There's More Than a Locked Door Between You and Freedom

Sammy woke up slowly, still not used to the wailing voices that seemed to torment him any time he let his guard down. Seriously, he would have thought he’d gotten used to them by now. But no, the gut-wrenching cries always seemed to catch him off guard, just as saddening and terrifying and overwhelming as they always were. His head pounded, and it took him nearly a full minute to remember how he had ended up an ink puddle on the floor. When he did remember, his only reaction was a tired sigh. With his pounding headache and being in worse shape he ever had been, it took him a long time to reform his liquefied body.

He finally managed to pull himself from the puddle that molded into the shape of his body as he did so. Looking around, he wasn’t quite sure where he was, but he wasn’t too keen on heading back to the Music Department. He stood on shaky legs and took a deep breath. Had Wally finally gotten outta here, like he said he would at least twice a day? Or had Joey got his hands on him and— there was no use thinking about that, it would only worsen his headache.

Sammy exhaled and plodded tiredly through the halls and various rooms, not really sure where he was going or why. Did it really matter? If Wally hadn’t gotten out, he was as good as dead. Worse, if he was being honest. But Sammy had done his best. All he could do was hope, as there was really no way of knowing if he made it out unless Sammy ran into him again, which would only prove that didn’t.

“So what now?” He asked out loud, his voice echoing slightly in the bare halls. What had he been doing before running into Wally? Right, looking at the music sheets. His music sheets. And before that, hoping to find some clothes in his office. He hadn’t, unfortunately, but at least that gave him something to do right now. He wasn’t sure how long he wandered, let alone where he was, when he decided he’d better find his way back to the Music Department. Better than trying to find his way through the seemingly endless maze of halls that was the studio. If he did run into Drew, he could easily make a quick exit. Hopefully he didn’t though. Just thinking about that man made him want to both throw up and punch something.

He wasn’t quite sure how, but it didn’t take him too long to find the stairs leading to his destination. Muscle memory, maybe? He wasn’t sure how many years he has worked at the studio, but he had to have known his way around. As he climbed the steps, he thought he heard voices. Tired, muted, monotone conversation, but he was relieved that they weren’t the anguished screams that he had been constantly on edge for. He continued climbing, but kept an eye out for the owners of the voices. He reached the top without further incident. As he reached the door, he leaned his head against it. Yep, there were at least three or four people standing around talking in the middle of the Music Department. He wasn’t sure what time it was. In fact, he had no idea how long it had been since he first woke up. Between hours and days was all he knew for sure, which was rather vague.

He slipped through the wall to the right of the door and found cracks in the wall to look through. There were several exhausted-looking people talking in hushed voices. Some were holding papers, another held a viola. Finally, one looked at his watch, announced the time, and they all went their separate ways. Sammy wandered through the insides of the walls, not wanting to be seen, watching someone for a while before moving onto the next. Everyone was so tired-looking and somber. Sammy was sure that Wally would’ve told them to lighten up.

The time seemed to pass quickly, and before he knew it, people were saying their goodbyes and heading for the exit.

Sammy wondered if he should just leave. It wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed his mind. But he was in no state to be out on the streets. He knew that whatever had happened to his body was unnatural, and it wasn’t exactly easy to hide. Besides, he had no idea where he lived. He would have to leave eventually though, he knew that much. Even though most everyone had left, Sammy stayed in the walls as he walked through the studio. He wasn’t sure who else could still be there. Plus, lurking in the walls was easier and safer. No one could see him while he could see everyone else, and he could access locked rooms without even having to try.

As Sammy went from room to room, he was rather disappointed by the contents of most of them. Just desks, chairs, papers, and an exorbitant number of Bendy posters and cutouts. Nothing of use to him. Until he came to a small room at the end of the hall. He peered through the cracks in the wall and saw, to his shock, a pair of yellowed overalls. They had a few ink stains here and there, and one especially large stain under the chest area. The overalls were just dropped carelessly into a wooden crate, but barely made it into the crate in the first place and had nearly fallen out. He saw a dead cartoon character flash through his mind, not only deformed but it’s chest gruesomely cut open as well. He came out of the wall, nearly tripping as he did so. Slowly stepping forward and crouching down, he gingerly picked up the overalls. He traced black stain with the tip of his equally black finger, then shuddered. The owner of these, the cartoon character, he knew that he’d watched him die. No, he’d watched him be murdered.

By Joey, he realized. Sammy stood up with the overalls in hand, resisting the urge to kick one of the crates. Then he began to put the overalls on. Gross, perhaps, but his memory clearly wasn’t very reliable. This way, he’d always have a reminder of who Joey was, what Joey was, no matter had bad his memory was. Monster didn’t even begin to describe him. Plus, of course, they were clothes.

As Sammy tried to put them on, he found it much more difficult than he had expected. After several minutes of trying (and failing), Sammy decided to bunch up the pant legs to see if that was any easier. It was, although it still took several more minutes to finish. He sighed with relief as he did so, standing up and stretching to see how well they fit. They fit perfectly, although Sammy wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

He slipped back into the wall before he actually thought logically about doing so, and he was completely inside the wall when he realized that. Looking down, he was rather surprised to find that he was still wearing the overalls. How did they...? Were they made of ink? Sammy couldn’t think of any other way what had just happened was possible. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he remembered dozens of impossible things that he himself was and was doing.

_And here he was, surprised that he could walk through walls while wearing clothes._

Sammy made a mental note that if he was going to be surprised at something happening in Joey Drew Studios, it’d better be something worth being surprised about.

~~~

Sammy spent the next several nights exploring the studio, and the days watching the employees there. He wasn’t sure exactly how long it had been, his closest guess was maybe a week. Many of the employees were familiar, some weren’t. But as time dragged on, he learned more about the studio and who it was named after. Apparently, the studio was going through a hard time. Joey Drew’s extravagant spending on pointless things and his treatment of the employees were two big reasons. He had built a toy factory into the studio, which was on a much lower level. According to one of the toy-makers, most of it wasn’t selling, especially the Alice Angel merchandise. He had overheard that very worker several times, as his Irish accent carried well. Joey was also apparently building an amusement park deep beneath the studio?

He wasn’t sure if this was just a rumor or not, but Sammy couldn’t exactly go down and check. Whenever he went to go down the stairs out of curiosity, there always seemed to be someone in his way. And the walls bordering the stairs on the lower levels didn’t have any stairs actually going through them, rendering them just a narrow gap. He wasn’t going to try jumping. He figured he could get down there if he really had a reason to, but he didn’t other than curiosity, so he didn't really bother. 

They also said that Drew was getting more and more off the hook, which wasn’t exactly new information to Sammy. He stayed inside the walls most of the time. As much as he wanted to warn the others, he was worried about their reaction to a literal ink person. During the nights he would stay out of the walls for the most part, but still avoided confrontation if he heard anyone coming. He wasn’t sure how he would react if he ran into Joey again, nor what he was capable of.

Another thing Sammy discovered about himself was that he didn’t need to sleep. He could, however, just let himself fall unconscious whenever he was too bored. He would ‘sleep’ sometimes to pass the time, other times he would write music. When he did this he felt more like himself and less like an inky abomination. He wrote songs for Bendy, just as he had done before. He had done it while he had worked there because he had to, but now he did it for the shred of familiarity it provided.

As the days stretched on, Sammy wondered about leaving again. There was no use to staying in this dying studio with a madman after him, and maybe he could find someone to help him once he escaped. He could find his family at the very least, if he had one. He finally decided that he would leave, in the dead of night long after everyone had left and long before anyone would arrive.

~~~

He woke up just right when he planned to, or at least he was pretty sure, there wasn’t a clock in sight. He had positioned himself inside the wall on the main floor, near a desk in the corner. Sammy listened for a few moments before stepping out into the hall. He slowly walked through the room and down the hallway, the exit sign above the door staring down at him. He put his hand on the handle and turned— and it was locked. “Damn you, Joey.” Sammy growled. He could easily just go through the wall, but part of him wanted to leave through the door properly.

So he walked back into the room, picked up a chair, then walked back to the door. Sammy raised the chair above his head and brought it down forcefully. To his annoyance, the cheap wooden chair simply shattered. He huffed, then pushed through the wall to the right of the door.

Before his body had the chance to re-emerge on the outside, he was hit by an intense pain. It was worse than anything he had ever felt before, worse than when he’d been formed by The Machine, worse than when he had stepped into the pool of ink, worse than anything he could have imagined. The screams were so loud that he could barely hear his own as he stumbled backward, back into the damn studio he had been trying to escape. As he reentered the confines of the studio, the voices stopped, but the pain lingered. Nowhere near as bad, but sure as heck enough to remind him of how bad it had been. It was a while before he could form a single thought. He hadn’t realized he had been crying as he laid on his back, his body half-submerged in a puddle of ink. It had been so, so bad. It felt like his mind had been splitting apart, and at the same time being ripped from his pathetic inky excuse for a body. Inky tears still running down his cheeks, he barely managed to drag himself into a wall before passing out again.


	11. Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shorter one, sorry! But I try to make up for it by having the chapter jam-packed with new information and whatnot.

Sammy woke up feeling fine. Physically, that is. He sat up slowly, reforming his ink as he did so. He began trembling almost immediately after waking up. It had been so bad. Words couldn’t even describe it. Sammy cradled his head and pulled his legs close to his body, his shoulders pressed against the insides of both walls. Taking deep breaths, he tried to forget what had just happened. How unbearably awful it had been. He didn’t know what had happened or why it had, but there was one thing Sammy knew for sure. _There’d be no leaving Joey Drew Studios._ Not until he could figure out how, at least. Who knew how long that would take, or if it would ever happen at all. For all Sammy knew, he could be stuck there the rest of his life. Forever. 

This thought made a wave of nausea rise in his throat, and Sammy couldn’t push it down this time. Not long after he was doubled over, fetching and vomiting ink on the wooden floorboards. Finally, he steadied himself, hardened his resolve, and began to walk, staying inside the walls as he did so.

Sammy knew where he was going, even though he couldn’t remember ever going there. His sanctuary. Wally had said something about the band room closet and that he worked there sometimes, and Sammy instinctively knew that that was his sanctuary. His safe haven.

He reached the band room and came out of the wall, walking over to the closed door that lead to his sanctuary and going through it. He looked around. In front of him was a short hallway lined with instruments. Running a finger along the top of one of the cellos, he found a thick layer of dust. The instruments were probably very out of tune as well, but he didn’t bother to check. Sammy continued, finding that the hall widened into a small room. There was a desk in the corner, several pipes with a valve in the other corner. There was also a toilet between the two. _When did that get there?_ As little as he _could_ remember, he was certain that his sanctuary hadn’t contained a toilet. He stood his head and turned to the desk. He opened the uppermost drawer to find something similar to the desk in his office: paper, fountain pens, and of course, more blasted ink. 

He closed that drawer and slid open the bottom one. Like in his office, the bottom drawer was the interesting one. This drawer was cluttered, unlike the top, with Sammy’s own personal belongings. Folded and taking up half the drawer were some clothes. He took them out, touching them as little as possible, and laid them on the top of the desk before looking through the drawer once more. 

There were more pens, a small silver pocket watch, a picture frame facing downwards, and a tiny piano made from quartz and ebony. (That was what it looked like, at least.) He picked up the piano delicately, holding by the legs so if he stained it, it wouldn’t be noticeable. It was a beautiful work of art, handcrafted by the look of it. He turned it over in his hand. It must have been a gift from someone he knew very well, someone he couldn’t remember. 

He set it down on the desk next to the clothes and picked up the picture frame. Turning it over, Sammy studied the picture. It showed a man, whom he assumed was himself, playing a banjo with what could only be described as a blissful expression on his face. Next to him was a beautiful woman playing a violin, a similar expression written across hers. She had long black hair that reached her waist, fair skin, and her eyes that were the palest shade of blue. 

Sammy stared at her. Who was she? He knew that he knew her, and that she had been very important to him. Very important. Was she his sister? She looked nothing like him. A friend then? Or even... something more than that? He stared at her, beginning to hate himself for not being able to remember her at all. He had cared for her so much, he knew it. Sammy longed to remember her name. Could she have been his girlfriend, or fiancé or wife? He didn’t seem like the type to be in a relationship. He was too absorbed in his work, he knew that much. Besides, he wasn’t exactly the nicest person. It would take a special type of person to want to be with him.

_She was special_ , he thought to himself. He knew this, and believed it with all his heart. But then Sammy frowned. Was she worried about him? How long had it been? He need to start keeping track of the days. Was she looking for him? What would she think if she found him like this? 

Leaving the picture in the frame, (hoping to protect it from the ink somewhat) Sammy put it on the desk. He then picked up the clothes. He would leave the overalls on, but he decided that a shirt couldn’t hurt. He started to put it on, but found that it was even more difficult than the overalls had been. It took him a while, but he finally managed. It was rather uncomfortable though, unlike the overalls, and it was too big in some places and too small in others. It was already extremely ink stained; only a few parts of the shirt still had the original color. That was strangely different from the overalls, which were still unstained aside from the ones that were already there when he found them. 

Sammy couldn’t decide whether to keep it on or just take it off. It was decided for himself, however, when he attempted to leave the sanctuary and found that his shirt wouldn’t go through the wall, forcing his ink to worm around it. He came back into the room to find the shirt in an inky puddle on the floor. Shrugging, he wrapped it up in the other clothes and shoved it back into the drawer.

Sammy put the picture frame in his pocket and picked up the piano once more, looking at it. Had the woman given it to him? Maybe even made it herself? Suddenly, Sammy heard a rumble. It was the door to the sanctuary, which was a machinery powered roll-up door. He dropped the piano in surprise, which landed in the drawer. He slammed it shut and bolted for the wall. Once safe, he turned and watched as Joey Drew strode into his sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right folks, I don't ship Sammy and Susie.


	12. An Inkling of What's to Come

Joey, holding a cardboard box, stopped in the middle of the tiny room that was Sammy’s sanctuary. The person whom the sanctuary belonged to watched from the walls as Joey stepped toward his desk. He immediately reached toward the bottom drawer and pulled it straight out, then proceeded to dump the contents of the drawer into the box. Sammy clenched his fists. The piano. He had to get it back. 

He glanced downward and was appalled to find that the picture frame had come out of his pocket, as it refused to travel through the wall. It was face up on the floor next to said wall, a crack running through the glass. He hadn’t noticed it fall because the sound had been covered by the door opening noisily. Joey didn’t seem to notice it, yet... He placed the box on the desk and pulled the clothes out, holding the bunch in a way that allowed the one ink-covered shirt to fall to the floor. 

Joey straightened, his eyes traveling around the room.

“I didn’t know you were one for... sentimental objects, Sammy.” Joey said, referring to the piano. His voice was different now, but Sammy couldn’t put his finger on it. 

“You never seemed the type...” his eyes landed on the broken picture frame. He leaned down and picked it up, glancing at it for a moment before dropping it in the box. 

“She isn’t looking for you, you know. You don’t even know her name, do you? But you must have figured out what she meant to you. You’re too clever to not have.” Joey rambled as he pulled out the chair and leaned back, putting his feet up on his desk next to the box. 

“No, you know she was special to you, but you don’t know her name. I do though. I could tell you, you know,” Joey said tauntingly. 

“But I don’t think I’ll do that.” Of course. If there was something that allowed Joey to hold just the slightest bit of power over another person, he would hold onto as long as possible, savoring every second of it. 

“Although, there is one thing I’ll tell you. She isn’t looking for you. She isn’t even worried. I made sure of that.”

Sammy saw red for a minute. He was seriously considering charging out from his hiding place and beating him to death. It sure would be fun. But that would make him no better than the man he so hated. So he crouched down, held his head in his hands, and dug his fingers into his skull as he tried to numb the searing pain that had quickly flared up. 

What exactly had Joey been implying? Had he done something awful to her, so she had no way of telling anyone else he was missing? Had he cooked up some elaborate lie to pacify her? Sammy feared that, knowing Drew, the former was more likely. Sammy didn’t move from his position, even as Joey picked up the box and left the room. 

He took ragged breaths, not being able to stand the way he felt. The pain in his chest made him feel like he couldn’t breath, not that he needed to in the first place. This wasn’t even a result of the ink, it was his anxiousness for the woman whose name he didn’t even know. 

~~~

Joey smiled to himself as he stepped out of the over-sized closet. Lying was a skill he’d mastered long ago. He could say anything, no matter how preposterous, without a blink, nor even a twitch. That was exactly what he had told Sammy, a lie that is. All Joey had done was stage a concerned phone call asking why Sammy hadn’t come in to work two days in a row, the morning after using him for The Machine. It had proved far more efficient than hurting her in any way, but Sammy didn’t need to know that. His girlfriend had already been worried about him not coming home, so of course that only made her even more so. There was already a police investigation going on. Two officers had arrived that evening, and Joey had graciously showed them around the first floor whilst answering their questions. They seemed satisfied after a while and left. As far as he was concerned, he was now unsuspected by the officers. His girlfriend? Maybe not. He was certain that Sammy had complained about him. But as long as he wasn’t mentioned on any official report, he was in the clear. Joey continued, reached the exit, then dumped the contents of the box in the dumpster outside. He then dropped the box, wiped his hands on his pants, then picked it back up and stepped back inside. 

~~~

Sammy watched as Joey waltzed back into the studio. The piano and picture were gone. There was no way of getting them back, unless he somehow threatened Joey into grabbing them for him. But that was downright preposterous. Sammy hurried to his office through the walls as Joey strode in the same direction. He reached it and was inside before Joey was even halfway down the hall. Pulling open the bottom drawer, Sammy grabbed the top few songs. If he couldn’t have the few things that had meant so much to him, at least he would have a few of his songs. As he was about to go through the wall again, he froze. The pages weren’t going to go through. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Behind him, the door opened. 

“Well, fancy seeing you here.” Joey said. His voice still had that slightly different tone to it. Sammy still couldn’t figure out what made it different than usual. He almost sounded more tired, but no… that wasn’t it. He turned around and watched as Joey stepped into his office. 

Sammy considered his options. He could just drop the music sheets and escape into the walls. But that would be like letting Joey win, letting him take yet another part of himself. He could just dash towards him, push past and run down the hall, then find somewhere to hide. He was certain he could outrun Joey. He had just decided on this course of action when Joey decided to continue. 

“Hoping to hold onto some of your songs, eh? Well I’m sorry to say that those belong to me. You do work for me. Or, did. As far as I’m concerned, I haven’t seen you for nearly a week. So you’re going to hand those over, then-”

“I don’t plan on doing any such thing, Drew.” Sammy said in a low voice. 

“Come on now, this doesn’t need to be a big deal. It’s just a few pieces of paper. Not like a little trinket given to you by a certain someone.”

“No,” he reiterated. “And that belongs to me, so if anyone is giving anyone anything, it’ll be you returning my belongings.” 

“Oops, sorry. Already threw it out.” Joey gave him an apologetic smile. A wave of anger crashed over Sammy. It wasn’t just his words, but that damn smile that was really just mocking him. That stupid smug smile. Something just snapped as he hurtled forward, knocking Joey to the ground before he had the chance to even move. Sammy pinned him down, one knee on his chest, inky fists clenched around Joey’s throat. 

“Tell me her name,” Sammy hissed. Joey’s eyes were bulging as he struggled for breath, mouth gaping open like a fish out of water. He knew that he had stepped too far with his taunts, and his eyes revealed his fear. Sammy could see it too. 

“TELL ME!” he snarled. Joey coughed as though he was trying to say something. Sammy finally loosened up just enough for his to breath, not enough for him to move.

“A-Ashley,” Joey spluttered. Sammy slowly stood up, letting go of him as he did so. He kicked Joey in the ribs before turning and stalking down the hallway. 

~~~

Joey gasped and rubbed his throbbing neck as he scrambled up off the dusty floor. Still dizzy from the lack of oxygen, he stumbled down the hallway after Sammy was no longer in sight and quickly made his way to the exit. This was getting out of hand. Continuing to allow Sammy to roam around the studio was clearly too dangerous, and risking his life was not high on his to-do list. Something would have to be done. And that something would have to be the next part of his plan, whether he was ready or not.


	13. Flow The Ink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, here we go.

Sammy was sitting inside the wall, staring blankly at the music sheets that he held in his hands. There had been a small hole in the wall that he had managed to slip them through. Sheep Songs, Hellfire Follies, Siren Serenade, and a few others he had managed to grab. The section of the wall he was sitting in was wider than the others for whatever reason, and it was also a junction connecting several different walls. Not only that, but it was also in the Music Department, the area he was most familiar with and closest to his office and sanctuary. He folded the pages up, set them on the floor, then walked to his office. Slipping out of the wall, he took the contents of the top drawer, then carried them back to the hole in the wall. That’s when he found that the ink jars wouldn’t fit, so he just put them on a random shelf and went back into his little spot between the walls. Picking up one of the pens and papers and using some ink that dripped down the wall, he wrote on the sheet. It was only one word: _Ashley._ He wrote it again and again, filling up the entire page then flipping to the other side and doing the same. He wrote it over and over, even when there was no more room, simply letting it overlap. It wasn’t long before one could barely tell what was written there. 

But Sammy knew. And he wouldn’t let himself forget.

When he could write no more, he simply held it in his hands, staring at it. He then stood up and impaled the page on a nail that stuck out at head height. When this was done, he sat heavily, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. He began to hear voices, the voices of the studio workers this time, but he made no attempt to move. He heard a woman’s hushed whisper coming from just beyond the wall in behind him.

“Joey’s acting weird. No, not just weird. He’s actually starting to scare me. If he keeps this up, you’d better believe I’m quitting. Hey, have you seen Wally?” Sammy had a sinking feeling when she said that. Wally was missing? He wished he didn’t know what that meant, but he did. The conversation halted, as did all the others as the room went silent. It was almost as though everyone was holding their breath. Sammy opened his eyes and turned, curious enough to do so but not enough to really care. He froze, however, as he saw Joey standing in the middle of the room. 

He stood there, hands in his pockets, a beige scarf wrapped around his neck. Sammy knew it was most likely to hide some big ugly purple bruises and not because of the cold. He looked around at the nervous faces around him for a long moment, then took a deep breath and spoke.

“I want you all to come upstairs to the main floor. I have something to show you. If you see anyone else on the way up, tell them what I told you. I’ll be up there in a few minutes.” Then Joey walked toward the door leading to the elevator. There was still that difference in his voice… Sammy suddenly knew what it was. His voice no longer held that charisma that filled the room and caused everyone to look at him, that made every word he said sound like honey. Sammy wasn’t sure what to make of this revelation. He couldn’t imagine it was good, though. 

He stood up as the employees began to shuffle toward the stairs, not-so-quiet whispers of confusion audible from where Sammy stood. When he was sure no attention was focused in his direction, he darted out of the wall and into the one on the other side of the hall. He went unnoticed, everyone’s attention focused on Joey’s strange announcement instead. From where he was now, he could make his way to the stairs. Something he had noticed a while before what that the stairs were actually anchored _into_ the wall, so he could actually go up them while remaining hidden. It wasn’t a feature that was included on the lower levels, probably to cut costs. It was a tight squeeze as the walls there were very close together, but he could manage nonetheless. Moving hastily, he made it to the main floor before any of the other employees, aside from the ones who were already gathered there. He noted that they were mostly animators. 

Suddenly a voice crackled through the speakers that were all over the studio. It belonged to Joey. 

“If you have not already been informed, please make your way to the main level. I want everyone up here in under five minutes.” Joey’s voice almost seemed monotone without the charisma it usually held, although it wasn’t. But one thing was the same: Joey’s unrealistic expectations. There were _several_ levels below the Music Department, and though Sammy had only explored them briefly, he knew they were quite large, possibly each of them being bigger than the Music Department itself. How could Joey really expect everyone to get up here in five minutes, especially if anyone had to use the elevator? But Sammy wasn’t surprised in the least, as he had known Joey for years, even if he didn’t remember. He honestly would have surprised if he _hadn’t_ given the employees yet another near-impossible demand. 

The speaker went silent, and the employees started talking again, slightly louder this time as Joey wasn’t even on that floor. Sammy vaguely remembered that the sound system controls were on one of the lower levels, and it was a door that was always locked with a padlock which only Joey had the key for. He’d always been a paranoid one. 

Sammy had an intense feeling of premonition as more and more employees shuffled into the already-crowded room. It wasn’t just in his head, he could feel it in his ink, down to his very core.

Something bad was about to happen.

Joey’s voice filled the room, this time in person rather than over the speakers. How had he gotten up here so quickly?

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the moment you’ve waited for! I’m about to make your dreams come true!” Joey’s voice boomed. It seemed to have regained its charisma and charm. 

“You’re all familiar with the cartoons we know and love?” There were slow nods.

“Well, it’s time you knew the truth. The Ink Machine can and will bring them to life!” Confused murmurs filled the room, drowning down Joey’s next few words. Joey cleared his throat, but the voices continued. Joey did so again, louder. This time they fell silent. 

“You don’t understand now, but you will! Don’t you worry, you will...” Joey abruptly turned and sauntered down the hall. 

_The one leading to the Ink Machine._

Sammy froze, not sure what to do, when someone shouted, “Screw this! Joey’s a lunatic, and I don’t want any part of this!” He bolted down the hallway and turned the knob. Sammy knew it’d be locked. 

He wasn’t wrong. 

A few people came down the hall after him, appalled that Joey had locked them in the studio, but Sammy didn’t notice. He was currently unconscious. Mere seconds before, he had felt a strange tug in his ink, then his body simply became liquid, his mind shutting itself down. As he sunk into the floor, he could vaguely hear panicked screams through the fog that wrapped around his mind. 

~~~

Joey watched the pandemonium with a smirk. Then he turned to Thomas, who looked sickly pale and was leaning against the wall, doubled over, head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Now Thomas, you’ve been a big help! I couldn’t have done it without you.” This only seemed to make Thomas more nauseous as he thought about what he had just helped do to his coworkers. 

“But unfortunately, I can’t leave any witnesses. You understand.” Thomas shot straight up, staring at Joey with wide eyes. 

“But you said you’d let me go!”

“What’s keepin’ you from telling anyone?”

“P-please! I won’t! You know no one would believe me anyway!”

“Apologies Thomas, I just can’t take any chances.”

“But my kids—”

“Guess they’ll just have to miss you, hmm?” Joey grabbed him by the collar with a gloved hand.

“Y-You said…” Thomas managed weakly before Joey cut him off again. This time plunging him into the ink.

“Guess I lied, didn’t I?” whispered Joey as he held him under the vile black substance. He never stood a chance, not really. Joey watched with smug satisfaction as Thomas struggled pitifully, the last few air bubbles breaching the surface, then he stopped. Joey had seen what was about to happen enough times by now to back up. He did exactly that, turning and walking back to the Ink Machine. 

He strolled leisurely, taking his sweet time. After all, it wasn’t like any of them were going anywhere.


	14. Stifling Silence, Several Songs, and a Sinister Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm genuinely proud of this chapter title xD  
> Alliteration is awesome

Sammy woke slowly, every part of him aching. Before he even had the chance to open his eyes, he noticed something. It was silent. Dead silent. No screams, no voices, no machinery. It reminded him of a grave. He opened his eyes, a wooden ceiling far above him. He wasn’t sure how long he had been unconscious, but he had a feeling that it had been longer than a few hours. Days, even. He rubbed his eyes as he sat up. He realized that he wasn’t simply a puddle of ink, like he was most times he woke up. Looking around, he wasn’t quite sure where he was, yet it seemed very familiar. He was in a large room, dozens of instruments lining the walls. There were chairs and music stands as well. _The band room,_ his mind told him. The lights were dim and flickering. As he sat there, he tried to remember how he ended up there and what had happened before he passed out. He slowly got to his feet and turned in a circle, racking his brain to figure out where he was. Taking a step toward one of the music stands, he saw a sheet of music there. _His music._ It was like a light bulb went off in his head. As his memories came rushing back, he started to feel very lightheaded. Leaning against the wall to keep from toppling over, his breathing sped up. He was trapped here. As he remembered the screams of the studio workers, muffled through both the walls and the haze over his mind, he realized he wasn’t the only one trapped here. 

All the other studio employees were, too. 

Suddenly, he heard a gurgle not far behind him. He jumped, then went straight through the wall he was leaning on. Turning, he watched as a living ink blob dragged itself through the open door. It looked slightly humanoid, if you used your imagination, that is. To most people it would have been frightening, an ink monster dragging itself into the room, just a few feet away from where you were hidden. But Sammy felt nothing but pity for the creature. It was no monster, just a person in a hellish situation, a victim both of The Machine and Joey Drew.

Sammy slowly stepped out of the wall once it passed him, coming out just behind the creature.

“Hey.” He spoke softly, not wanting to scare it. It didn’t seem to work, however, as the ink creature whirled around and lunged toward him. Sammy didn’t move. It froze just as it came within an arm’s length from him. It continued to stare at him, unmoving. Taking this as a good sign, Sammy slowly got down on his knees, careful not to make any sudden movements as he did so. 

“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” It remained still, eyeing him with what seemed like curiosity, but it was still distrustful of him. Sammy reached toward the closest instrument. A banjo. He hadn’t actually planned to do so, he just did on impulse. He started to play one of his own songs, though he wasn’t exactly sure which one. He had written hundreds, after all. Sammy closed his eyes, not missing a single note. Getting so caught up in his music, he actually forgot about the creature for a split second. He finished the song, the final note echoing through the room. 

Opening his eyes, he saw that its eyes were closed as well, inky tears running down its face. It opened them, gurgled one final time, then disappeared into its own puddle. The gurgle had sounded almost content, almost like a… thank you. Sammy remained sitting on the wooden floorboards as he stared at the banjo in his hands. He had completely forgotten how it felt to play music. He felt as though he had rediscovered a part of himself, like when he had written music to pass the time. 

Tightening his grip on the banjo, his stood up and walked into his sanctuary. The roll-up door was open, so he didn’t have any problems bringing the instrument inside. Setting it down carefully against the wall next to his desk, he pulled out the chair and sat down heavily. He then pulled the supplies from the top drawer, carefully wrote a 5-line staff across the page, and began to write the notes as they popped into his head. It was how he always wrote music, years before falling victim to the Machine. Most importantly, writing music, along with playing it, as he had just so learned, made him feel more like himself. 

It was a slower song than most, more of a lullaby. It didn’t take him long to finish. As he looked it over, he tried to think of what to name it. _Joey is an Asshole_ was his first thought, then he shook his head with a small smile. Then he began to think about the studio and everything that had gone on there, but as he did so, other memories entered his mind. Spending time with other employees whose names he couldn’t remember. One in particular, a young woman with bright blue eyes and golden curls. She had been like a sister to him. Annoying at times, but she always made sure he was taking care of himself. He sighed, wishing he could remember more of his life before what had happened to him. He also thought about the ink creature, formerly a studio worker, most likely one he had known personally. He had played music for it, and for a few blissful moments they could both be at peace. Though the whole situation they were both in wasn’t pleasant, there were still good moments to be had, like a silver lining of sorts, even if it was a small one. Finally, he wrote a title at the top of the page. _The Lighter Side of Hell._ With the slightest smile on his face, he put the sheet down and closed his eyes. 

Then, he heard a strange sound from the hall outside the band room. He frowned, picked up his banjo, and stepped quietly out of his sanctuary. There was nothing out of place in the band room. Continuing to move forward, he reached the door and peeked into the hall. 

To his shock, down the hall was a tall, mangled, inky being. The hallway around it and reaching for about ten feet in every direction was coated in ink, ink that seemed to be almost alive as it moved of its own accord. The creature was facing away from him. However, when it turned, Sammy felt his stomach drop as his gaze landed on it’s wide, sinister smile. The very smile that belonged to Bendy, but this _thing_ was horribly mangled and off-model. Sammy dropped his banjo, paralyzed by fear. It’s smile seemed to widen as it began taking slow, staggering steps toward him. 

He desperately wanted to hide in the walls, to run, to do _anything_ besides stand there as the monster drew closer, but it was as though his body had turned to ice. Finally, it was only a few feet away. Sammy squeezed his eyes shut, wondering if this was how he died, then slowly opened them as nothing happened. The monster that was Bendy was staring down at him, almost as though it was inspecting him, that chilling grin never wavering for a second. Sammy held his breath, which didn’t have anything to do with the fact that he didn’t need to breathe. He reached out one inky clawed hand and lifted Sammy’s chin so he was looking directly up at him. Sammy’s heart pounded. He swore that Bendy could hear it. After what seemed like forever, the monster turned and disappeared into a black void in the wall, the inky tendrils sinking into the wall the moment he did. 

Sammy didn’t move for a long time. Finally, he took a shaky breath and looked down at his banjo. It was split straight down the middle, the strings barely holding it together. It was much more broken than a 2-foot drop should have caused. Nevertheless, Sammy kneeled down and picked it up, mind reeling at the fact that he wasn’t currently just an ink stain on the floor. This strange creature, this mangled, twisted version of Bendy, was terrifying. But he hadn’t hurt Sammy, and it’s touch almost seemed… gentle. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as he seemed. 

He got to his feet and stumbled back into his sanctuary, still shaken up by what had just happened. Though Bendy hadn’t hurt him, the next time they met he may be in a worse mood. Or have gotten over his curiosity. Whatever the outcome, he wasn’t too keen on meeting the strange creature again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sammy is introduced to the Inky Boi


	15. All We Like Sheep Have Gone Astray

As the days dragged into weeks, Sammy passed the time however he could. Writing music, playing it for the ink creatures who seemed to enjoy it, and sleeping. He had explored some of the lower levels more thoroughly, but quickly decided to stick around the Music Department. There were other ink creatures down there, however, unlike the other ones he had encountered, these ones were very aggressive. 

~~~

Reluctantly deciding to take the elevator, he made his way down to the lowest level. Since he had nothing better to do, Sammy had decided to explore the entire studio from bottom to top. It creaked ominously, but the elevator worked fine otherwise. Sammy stepped out onto a wooden platform. On the floor to his right was... looking at it, he wasn't exactly sure what it was. He stepped closer to examine it. It looked like one of the living cartoons, a corpse of it anyway. Racking his brain to remember the name of it, he frowned. It was part of a group of three, right? It started with a B. The Butcher Gang! He sighed in relief as he realized. His memory still wasn't as good as it should have been, but at least he was able to remember some things if he tried.

Turning from the corpse, he looked out over a little railing. This level was much larger than most of the others. His gaze shifting downwards, he saw that most of the level was flooded in ink. Well, so much for exploring. Just as he was starting to turn back to the elevator, he heard a ear-splitting mechanical screech ring out and echo in the large room. He whirled around and saw a bright light moving down where the ink was. It took him a moment to realize that the light was coming from a projector mounted on the shoulders of an ink creature. Said ink creature was standing in the doorway of a hall, ink up to its knees, inky hands clawing at its projector head. It did this for several seconds, incomprehensible static emitting from the speaker in its chest, before slumping its shoulders and continuing to trudge through the ink. 

"Hello?" Sammy called. It ignored him. He watched it for another few seconds before it let out another pained screech and started pulling at the wires protruding from the projector and its back. The static was growing in volume, the ink creature seemingly growing more and more agitated. Suddenly, it turned and looked up, Sammy now directly in the projector's bright glare. He held up a hand to shield his eyes. Before he even had the chance to move, the creature screeched again. It started running toward the stairs to where he was.

"That's my cue to leave," Sammy muttered under his breath, quickly dashing back toward the elevator and pushing the call button. He could hear it coming, but too slowly. Pounding footsteps sounded behind him, then slowed to a stop. He turned slowly. The projector-headed creature was now right in front of him, staring down at him with it's blinding glare. He squinted up at it. It didn't move, seemingly waiting for something.

"Um, hi. I'm, uh, Sammy." He wasn't really sure what else to say. The ink creature made a satisfied noise from the speaker and took a step back. Then it turned, looking back toward the sea of ink. Another sound came from the speaker, but this sounded like... almost like a word. 

"What?" It repeated the sound, louder, but it was too wrapped in static for him to understand it.

"Sorry, I can't-" Several things happened at once. The elevator arrived, though the doors didn't open. The ink creature turned on him and attempted to grab him, screeching. Sammy ducked and stumbled backwards, through the metal bars that made up the elevator doors. Before he could be relieved that he was safe, the creature threw a hard punch at the elevator doors. The metal dented enough for him to no longer feel safe. Sammy hit the panel of buttons, as fast as he could, not caring where he was going, just wanted to get away. As the elevator started to ascend, he saw the creature drop to its knees and start clawing at its head again, the pained screeches echoing through the elevator shaft.

Sammy ended up on a level he didn't recognize. His desire to explore was much less now after the unexpected encounter with the strange projector-headed creature. As he came to a fork in the hallway he was walking down, he heard loud gurgles, almost like a conversation in a way. He turned the corner to see the three members of the Butcher Gang standing in the middle of a large room. Wait, hadn't he just seen one of them dead on level 14? Before he could think more on this, one spotted him and they all began to chase after him. It wasn’t hard to lose them though, as they were slow and not all that smart. While his heart was still pounding from the second close encounter in the last ten minutes, he made his way into another room and shut the door behind him. It soon became apparent that he wasn’t alone. 

Just as he had closed the door, he heard a woman’s muffled sobbing. Sammy turned and scanned the room. He noticed the ominous phrase “ _Dreams come true”_ written on the wall in shaky handwriting before his eyes came to rest on a small figure huddled on the floor. She was sitting in a puddle of ink, though the rest of her wasn’t covered in it, which could only mean one thing. She was a toon.

“Hello?” Sammy asked hesitantly. She let out a gasp and looked at him. It was then that he saw the toon was just as off-model and mutilated as the others. Her face was disfigured beyond recognition, with both eyes just being empty sockets that dripped ink, her right cheek ripped open so far that it revealed yellowed teeth and parts of the bone in her jaw, ink-covered halo sticking straight out of her head, horns longer and more curved than they should have been, but it was Alice Angel. She buried her face in her hands.

“Don’t look at me! I’m hideous!” She screeched, beginning to cry again. Her voice seemed layered, yet it was strangely familiar.

“Woah, calm down. What’s your name?” Sammy attempted to calm her. Finally, someone he might be able to actually talk with. 

“A-Alice.” She managed between sobs. 

“Listen Alice, I-” She cut him off.

“Are you with him?”

“What? Who?” Sammy stepped closer. Alice stood suddenly, grabbing Sammy by the shoulders and shaking him.

“H-He’s everywhere! He’ll pull me back! B-But I won’t let him! I have to be perfect! I _will_ be perfect!” Giggles erupted from her throat as she shrieked this over and over. “I’LL BE PERFECT!” Sammy twisted out of her grip and lunged for the wall. He made it just in time, as he whirled around to see Alice pounding on the wall for several seconds, then peer through the cracks at him. 

“He won’t stop me from being perfect, and neither will you.” She whispered, her high voice sounding overwhelmingly familiar. She started to laugh again, and Sammy seized his chance to put as much distance between himself and the deranged angel as possible. 

~~~

After he had finally made his way back to the Music Department, he had firmly decided not to go any deeper into the studio than he had to. He had no wish to encounter Alice again. Why was she so familiar? She was a cartoon character for goodness sake. It was just something about that voice. That voice… Sammy took a sharp breath as he realized. Susie. What had Joey done to her? She had become Alice Angel, the very cartoon she had voiced. Even as disfigured as she was, she looked like the cartoon character and even thought that was who she was. Sammy’s head spun. Joey had said that The Machine brought the characters to life. But then why wasn’t he a cartoon character? What about all the other ink creatures? He sat at his desk in his sanctuary as he pondered this, his hatred for Joey Drew growing, if it was even possible at this point. He took a deep breath. There was nothing he could do for Susie now. She was as messed up mentally as she was on the outside.

~~~

Time continued to stretch on. Nothing changed. Sammy was sitting in a chair in the band room playing _The Lighter Side of Hell_ on his banjo, (a different one) nearly a dozen Searchers gathered at his feet. That’s what he had decided to call them, as they were always searching for the part of themselves they had lost to the ink. As he played, he gazed at the inky faces looking up at him. They were all lost, like… like _sheep_. Sheep that had gone astray. Sammy closed his eyes.

They were trapped. Trapped in his studio and in their own inky bodies. 

They needed to be set free. But Sammy wasn’t the one to do it, he was just as trapped as they were, if not in slightly better shape. 

But who would set them free from this? Sammy didn’t have an answer for that. But he fervently hoped that he would find one before he totally lost his mind. 

_Unless of course, he already had._


	16. He Will Set Us Free

It had taken just a few more months of the isolation and silence of the studio for Sammy to find his answer. 

He had been walking through one of the endless halls when the area around him became coated in ink and he heard a familiar hiss behind him. He turned and watched as Bendy stepped out of a black inky void in the wall. He had seen him several times since that first encounter, each of them Bendy either ignoring him or watching him for a few moments before disappearing again. He was no longer afraid of him, why should he be? Bendy had never hurt him. This time though, something slightly different happened. The monster that was Bendy was just a few feet away from him. He looked at Sammy for a long time, and Sammy remained still. It would have been rude to just walk off, disrespectful even. Then he heard something. It was a thought popped into Sammy’s head, one that certainly didn’t belong to him.

  
  
  


**T̸͍͓̩̘̘͎̹͙̖̣̞͙̊̉̂͊̄̏̃̋͝ḧ̸̘͕́̋́̓̏̈́͋̊̕͠ę̵̘̻͈̫͂̽̓̂͆͒̔̌̍͜ ̶̺̖̯͈̥̗͂̎͌̈́̄̈́̑̈̕͝͠ͅC̸̨̡̛̖͔̻͍͇͑̄̉̏͝r̴̖̞̺̮̍̌̄͊͌̀͂͜͠ẻ̵͖̆̅͘a̵̖̙̟̦͈͈̩̦̬̽͛̂̐̉́̿̍͑͘͠t̵̢̛̏̿͘͝ö̴̻̾̎͗r̵̨̬̜͉̲̗͚̙͉̜̹͒̎͜͠ ̸̢̢̦̮͎̜͚͓̲͌͂̓̾͝l̴͚͋̐́́̈́̋̅̇̐i̸̬̜̳̭̹̥̫̊̾̾͑͠è̸̡̠̯̫͈̝ḑ̶̢̧͓̭͖͈̰̗͙͊͒̃̾͝ ̷͖̬̈͂͗̆̄͑͠t̷̩̣͍͉́ǫ̷̛̛̜̘̪̰̝̆̒̓͂͝͠͠ ̴̧̢̺̩̣̞̖̻̠̭̼̉u̵͇̣̦̙̿ş̸͈͕͇̒͐͜ͅ.̷̥̥̹̝͖̭̻̺̟̭̽̂̂͌̄̈͐̍̐̎͜**

  
  
  


It was raspy and gravelly. Sammy was certain that he heard it, but nothing was spoken aloud. It was simply a thought, but not his. Bendy turned and limped down the hall before turning and disappearing. He wasn’t sure what to think. Was he finally going crazy, or did Bendy just… speak to him? Sammy shook his head vigorously and hurried back to his sanctuary. He quickly sat down, pulled out a piece of paper, and wrote the same phrase on it, not wanting to forget. He stared down at the words. The Creator had to be Joey, right? He knew that Henry came up with the concept of Bendy, but Joey brought him to life. Not to mention that the man was a liar, too. And he didn’t just say that he lied to him, he said ‘us.’ Which was true, Joey had lied to all of them, but it showed that Bendy wasn’t just thinking about himself, he acknowledged the fact that the rest of them had been lied to as well. It was a shot in the dark, but Sammy had a strange feeling that Bendy might be the one who could set them free. 

~~~

Sammy held the head of a cardboard cutout in his hand, looking it over. Would Bendy like it if he wore it? He had cutouts and posters with his face everywhere, so had to, right? He pondered this, not wanting to do anything to upset him. He believed Bendy would be forgiving if he did, but better to not take any chances. He had lost track of how long it had been since he had decided that Bendy would be the one to free them. The passing of time seemed strange, or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t have much to do but play and write music. And of course do things to please Bendy. Within minutes he had made a mask. He tried it on and was surprised that he could see with it just fine. In fact, his vision was sharper, more focused. Now he didn’t have to cut eye holes.  _ But…  _ He took it off, looking at the mouth. He hated to admit it, but the grin still felt unsettling to him. Using a fire ax that he'd found, he carefully cut a hole. It seemed like a happier expression now, not just an empty grin. With a proud smile, he put it back on. Perfect. 

But now he had to try something. He slowly stepped through the wall. When he found that he was still wearing it on the other side, any doubt in his mind was erased. It was cardboard, not ink, therefore it shouldn’t be able to go through the wall, but it could.  _ It had to be Bendy’s doing _ . Was this truly the case? Sammy believed so. This had to mean the cartoon was pleased with him, right? He felt a flutter of excitement in his stomach. 

“What else do you want from me, Bendy?” Sammy asked out loud, his voice echoing off the wooden walls. 

He received no answer. 

~~~

On the first floor, Sammy stood and stared at the corpse of Boris, who was strapped to an operating table. He was confused. Hadn’t he seen this before? Yes, he had, while he had still worked there. But this Boris was slightly different. It was more… whole. It was laid out in a similar way to the last one, chest ripped open, head lolling to the side, eyes X-ed out. It had a crescent wrench sticking from it’s chest. He stepped closer and noticed a thick layer of dust coating the toon. There was a cobweb in the head of the wrench. How long had the corpse been sitting there?  _ How long had he been trapped here? _ He shook his head. No use dwelling on it. It wasn’t like it would change anything. 

As his eyes drifted to his right, he saw something that he definitely hadn’t seen before. There were words written on the wall in ink. The handwriting was messy, but still legible.

_ Who’s laughing now? _

He walked over to the wall and inspected the words more carefully. The ink was still wet, slowly dripping down the wall and staining even more of it black. Who wrote it? He couldn’t think of anyone who’d be tall enough besides… Bendy. It had to have been him. But what did it mean? And whom was he talking to? Sammy turned and plodded into the hall. If this message was for him, it didn’t give him any answers. He wished Bendy would give him clearer instructions. Then he stopped for a moment. Maybe  _ that _ was what he was supposed to do, to try to figure out what Bendy wanted from him. He continued to stride through the halls, and paused at a door. He didn’t bother to try the handle, he knew it was locked. Sammy entered the room through the wall to the left of the door. In it was a small desk with a chair in front of it, shelves built into the wall to the right. He sat down and picked up the pen he had left there. He would work here occasionally, though he normally stayed near his sanctuary. However, Searchers would often interrupt him there, wanting a song. He loved playing for them, he really, truly, honestly did. But a small, selfish part of him was annoyed at the distractions, as much as he tried to ignore it. So from time to time he would give into that selfish part of himself and work in this tiny room, just for a few hours of silence. This time he took a blank tape recorder from the highest shelf and set it on the desk next to the radio that sat there. He looked at it, took a deep breath, then pressed the button with a click. 

_ He appears from the shadows to rain his sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink that shines in the darkness. I see you, my savior. I pray you hear me. Those old songs, yes, I still sing them. For I know you are coming to save me. And I will be swept into your final loving embrace. But, love requires sacrifice. _

__

_ Can I get an amen? _

He finished with a click, then sighed. Would Bendy ever hear his calls? He had to remain optimistic. Grabbing a sheet of paper, he wrote ‘ _ He will set us free’. _ The same phrase he’d written on several walls as a reminder to himself and others. He was about to flip it over and start working on a song when he heard a voice, muffled as though they were in a different room. He paused, tilting his head, listening. Footsteps. They came closer, then stopped. The doorknob began to turn, but it was still locked. The footsteps resumed. The thing about them though, was that they were unlike the footsteps of any other creature in the studio. Searchers didn’t even have feet, Bendy moved slower with uneven footsteps, and the Butcher Gang, though they had never come this far up before, sounded different as well. Sammy frowned, undecided whether or not he should investigate. It was possible he was hearing things. The studio was always so silent that sometimes he thought he heard voices and went to check it out, only to find that the area was empty aside from himself. Not wanting to have the same happen, he remained seated. He counted in his head as he sat there. If nothing happened for thirty seconds, he’d resume what he’d been doing. He was at twenty-two when he heard a rumble. He felt dread in the pit of his stomach, knowing  _ exactly _ what the sound was. 

_ The Ink Machine. _

Someone had raised it from the depths. Sammy scrambled to his feet, shoving the tape recorder into the drawer. In his rush, he slammed the drawer harder than he meant to. The sound echoed in the tiny room. As a slight afterthought, he unlocked the door before slipping into the wall. Mere moments later, the handle turned, the door creaking open. 

Standing there was an actual person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To sum it up, Sammy slowly goes insane over the course of thirty years.


	17. Untouched by the Ink That Claimed the Rest of Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say that I added a bit in the beginning of chapter 15, so if you're reading this right as it's coming out, you should go back and check it out. If you've already read about the Projectionist, you can just ignore this. If not, I suggest you back and read it. It's not huge in terms of plot, but I realized I forgot to put everyone's favorite flashlight-head in, and I wouldn't get a chance after chapter 15. Then I died a little inside that I actually FORGOT Norman! D:   
> So yeah. I'm ranting. Hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it!

Sammy stared in shock. This was a human! Someone untouched by the ink that was everywhere in the studio. Why did he look so familiar? The man glanced around, then stepped toward the desk and turned the dial on the little radio that sat there. He listened until the song became static. If the man had turned it again, the same tune would have played. Sammy knew because he had listened to that radio and others over and over when things were too quiet for his liking. Instead, the man turned and walked into the hall. 

He honestly didn’t know what to think. Someone was here, after all this time. He skirted the walls of the room and followed him. He walked throughout the halls of the main floor. There was something about the way he looked around, almost as though he had been there before, long ago. And he was familiar to Sammy, but he couldn’t figure out how. He must have been a worker there. But then how had he escaped the fate that had happened to the rest of them? Though he was confused, he also felt a bit of  _ jealousy  _ toward the man. He was untouched by the ink that claimed the rest of them, he had gotten out of the studio before…

“Holy crap. Joey, what were you doing?” The man’s voice snapped him back to reality. He was standing in front of the dead Boris, staring at it with wide eyes. Joey… that name was familiar. Yes, he was the one who did this to all of them!  _ How had he forgotten? _ He shook his head, pushing this troubling thought to the back of his mind. So this man knew Joey. He turned and began to walk back down the hall, and turned into another room. He vaguely remembered it holding the main power switch for The Machine. Then a thought crossed Sammy’s mind. What if he… 

He stepped out of the wall, grabbing a cutout the was propped up near him. 

“Alright, how do I get this to work?” The man mumbled to himself. Sammy used the board that had fallen from the ceiling to prop up the cutout, then slipped back into the wall. The man turned the corner, then jumped in surprise.

“What the- Who put this here?” The corners of Sammy’s mouth twitched into a slight smile. He had done it just to see the man’s reaction, but he found that it was actually rather fun messing with the guy. Then he frowned, shaking his head. His focus should be on Bendy, not his own entertainment. The man walked around the cutout, eyeing it suspiciously as he did so. Then he stopped at the dead toon. Grimacing, he slowly reached up and pulled the wrench from Boris’ chest. He turned and began walking again. 

Sammy was conflicted, to say the least. The thought of this man turning on The Machine, it made his blood boil. Er, figuratively. But… what did Bendy want? Did he want it turned on, or no? If only he gave him clearer answers. 

  
  
  
  


**T̶͙͖͇̱̦̼̥̟̘̯̐̓́̌̽̐͑̏̚h̷̥̠̒̒͂̑͘͘ͅȅ̴͓̣̗̥̝̙̙͇̳̗̰̹̓͆̄̿̍̋̂̈́̄̇̈́͜ ̶̻͎̝̭͇͍̫̱͓̪̜̥͈͛̆̐͑͂̌̕̕͝M̶̡̡̪̯̦̺̱̯̜̭̔͊́̇̐̾̌͜ǎ̸̢̢̱̙̭͑̃̋̏̊̒̾̄̂̐͘̚c̵̡̢͉͇̗̖͚̠͈͙̰͔̍͊̉̌̑̃̏̑̄̈͑̂̂͆ͅh̷̢̦̥̪̤̳͈̘̮̙̪̩̒̌̓̍̉̓̈́͋̄̍̃͝ȋ̵͎̱͎̪̳͉͇͔̈̽̒̓͘͜n̶̺̜̮͋̈́͊͠e̸̡̢͎͇̱̗̥̪̲͍̰̫͐͝ ̷̨̡̖̮͎͎̠̘̺̫͓̘́͆͜͝Ḿ̴̧̧̛͓͚͍͓͍̟̙̺͇̣͈̉̆͂̈͛̈̉͆̎͝ṵ̵̢̩͍́͒̉̑̚̚s̷̨̛͇̗͈̲͈̩̭͍̩̪̮͎͈̎̋̐̒͋͂̚͘͝ţ̷͚͖̰͉̠͓̥̘̙̗̊ ̴͇͙̹̩̮͕̆̔͗͐͑̄̿͘͝E̵̛̪͖̫̦̽̓̍̐͂̈́͘͘n̶̡̩̞̰͕̔̆̎̅̊͋̓͊ͅd̸̡̡̓̉́u̶̺̝͎̖̯̘͙̇̑͐͑͛ͅr̵̡̦͙̰̗̖̞͙̠̝̫͑̄͌e̶͓̤̬̦͍̺͖͙͇̣̲̊̐̃͆̉̑͜**

  
  
  


Sammy froze. It happened again. A thought that was in his mind but wasn’t his. He smiled. He had his answer. 

~~~   
  
As the man collected items for The Machine, Sammy got ready. He positioned cutouts in different places and moved his tape recorder down to the Utility Shaft near the Music Department. Hopefully out of the way for now. Finally, the six objects were in position. Now all the man would have to do was turn on the flow, then The Machine could be activated. He heard footsteps coming down the hall toward him. Gripped the cutout, he moved it so it peeked around the corner for a split second, then stepped into the wall. He heard a gasp. The man turned the corner and glared at the cutout angrily. It was all Sammy could do not to snicker. Now he knew why Wally enjoyed pranking people. 

_ Wait, who’s Wally?  _ He frowned, then decided not to let his own lack of memory ruin his mood. He strode back towards the break room as he heard the pipes begin to flow. He heard the sound of a door opening, and turned to see the man jump. A cutout had jumped out at him when he'd opened a closet. He paused for a moment. He had faint memories of that happening to him several times before. Hadn't... He frowned, deep in thought. Hadn't someone rigged that up to happen in a couple different closets throughout the studio? Wally...? No, it had to have been Bendy. It had to have been him. It was so that the man understood that Bendy was everywhere, and was always watching. The sooner he understood that, the better. 

He turned and started moving back towards the main power room, making it there at the same time as the man. He watched as the man reached towards the lever, feeling the slightest bit of dread before dispelling it. He pulled the lever. The lights grew flickered and grew dim, a rumble going through the whole studio. Sammy raced toward The Machine. He reached it a good ten seconds before the man, and felt a wave of confusion at seeing boards covering the doorway to The Machine. Who…? 

The man turned the corner. He looked just as confused as Sammy felt as he stepped closer to the boards. Sammy suddenly felt a presence. Bendy was there. Before he could move, Bendy lunged out of the ink covering the floor and reached for the man. He let out a yelp of shock as he stumbled backwards, falling onto his back. Bendy receded into the ink as the man scrambled to his feet and booked it to the exit. Sammy followed through the walls. He couldn’t leave! Not when- His thoughts were interrupted as ink seeped through the walls. It was a lot of it, and Sammy remembered all too well what had happened the last time he had stepped into a pool of ink. He slipped through the wall and was back in the tiny room. Moving quickly, he jumped up onto the chair. The ink was still rising. How could he keep the man from leaving if he couldn’t even get off this damn chair? 

  
  
  


**W̵̡̛̟̦͙͙͚̳͙̱͉̙̄͋̄͗̀̾̚̚̕͝͠a̷̡̧̹͚̱̺̲̩̘̠͈̽̄͗̽̇͆͑͋͜͝ͅï̸̞̮͓͙͔͕̦̳̼̬̄̅͜ͅẗ̵̨͙̠̥̯̺̻̗̹̗̣̻̔̔̈́ͅͅ.̷̡̢̟̜̫̠̳͉̰̱̯̋̾̔͑̈̆͜**

  
  
  


Wait!? Why should he wait? He would nearly be to the exit by now! As if in response, he heard a shout and a crash. The ink began to recede. As it finally sank through the floorboards, Sammy jumped down and raced toward the door. Turning into the hallway leading to the exit, he saw a gaping hole in the floor. A smile slowly formed on his face.

_ Of course, Bendy wouldn’t let him leave that easily.  _ He thought a silent apology for doubting him. Sammy walked toward the stairs. The door to the stairwell had been locked, that was probably why the man hadn’t gone down them. He walked through the wall then straight down the stairs. He had only gone down one flight when he saw that the rest was flooded. He paused, unsure if he should go back up, when the ink started to sink down into the floor again.  _ It had to be Bendy’s doing. _ He must have pleased him, because he was certainly looking out for him. Sammy walked down the stairs slowly. He had made it another flight when the ink stopped. He waited patiently for about ten seconds when it started to go down again. This continued for just a few more flights of stairs before he reached the Music Department. Then he walked through Utility Shelf 9, where he knew the man had fallen. He had reached the walls of a room full of coffins and a strange ritual circle on the floor when he heard an ax chopping through wood. Then the door opened, and the man stepped through. Immediately the entire studio rumbled, nearly knocking Sammy off his feet. He placed two inky palms on the walls next to him to steady himself.

The man glanced around the room and began walking toward the door on the other side. His right foot stepped into the circle and he gasped, standing still for a moment, before collapsing in a heap. After a few seconds, Sammy stepped out of the wall. Slowly taking a few steps forward, he nudged the man with his inky foot. He was unresponsive. Sammy crouched down and looked at his face. He was extremely familiar, but older than his mind remembered him. His short blond hair had streaks of grey and there were wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. But he was still the same person he remembered, whether or not he could knew his name. Sammy picked up the ax, turning it over in his hands. It was a cheap one, like the others he’d found. Likely to break the minute you actually needed it. He stood up, leaned the ax against one of the coffins, slipped back into the wall, and settled down to wait.


	18. You Bring Death

As Sammy waited, he wondered. Who drew the circle on the floor, who had placed the coffins? Because it hadn’t been him. He was sure he’d remember something like that. Another question, were the coffins empty or… The thought of a decomposing human body being in a coffin just a few feet away from him didn’t disturb him as must as it should have. He didn't feel creeped out or disgusted like he probably should have been. He felt more curious than anything.

“Ugh, my head… What happened?” The man muttered, blinking and trying to sit up. 

“Well, I guess there’s only one thing to do. Press on. See if I can find a way out.” He struggled to his feet, rubbing his eyes briefly before picking up the ax. Chopping the boards from the door, he opened it and walked through it. 

Sammy stood up, watching to make sure he was gone before stepping out of the wall. He took a few steps toward the nearest coffin, the one he had propped the ax against. He hooked his fingers around the edge of the cover, hesitating for a moment before pulling it open. It creaked loudly, spitting out a plume of dust.

It was empty. 

Sammy heard his own voice as he caught up with the man through the walls. His tape recorder. 

_Can I get an amen?_

The tape ended. The man had a confused look on his face, slowly shaking his head. Did he find his words disconcerting in some way? Before Sammy had even thought about what he was about to do, he opened his mouth. 

“I said, _can I get an amen?”_ He said loudly. The man whirled around, looking around wildly. 

“Is someone there?” Sammy didn’t answer. The man pressed his hands to the sides of his head and took a deep breath. 

“Going mad already, Henry?” He muttered to himself. Henry… So that was his name. It sounded familar, like most other names he'd heard during his time in the studio. Sammy wasn't really surprised at this point. He exhaled loudly and kept walking. However, he stopped at the end of the hall in front of a cardboard cutout that Sammy had put there. He hadn’t drawn the circle on the wall, but it seemed like a good place to put a cutout. Henry stared at it for a second, then glanced at his ax. Before Sammy could even react, he swung it at the cutout. It shattered. Sammy felt his heartbeat speed up. How dare he? How _dare_ he?! The nerve! How would HE feel if Sammy swung an ax at him? To shatter him into two dozen pieces? It would be a fitting punishment, would it not? 

**D̵̡̰̯͙͉̯̯̳̫̅̈́̿ỏ̵̢̡͔̪̟͔͖̤̘̟̯͍̱͙͉̠̉ ̷̧̪̪͙̩̟̮̈n̶̙̟̿͌̌̒̽ō̶͎̪̥̞͈̘̠̖̳̈́̾̌͊̊̉̓͗̈́̓̽̃͜t̶̢͕̹̲̼̣̺̠̘̳̻͉͑ͅ ̷̢̧̡̢̗̘̺͇̘̠̮̻̗̗̜̞͇͔̫̽̂̑͋̾͆̔h̸̢̗̖͈̻̜̲̜̯̓̈̅͛͂̈́̓̊̚͘u̴̢̥̼̎̈́̃̉ŗ̶̢̹͚̳̲̰̠̟̲̱̻͓̻͆̈́̈́͊͒͐͛͐̑͋̀͗̌ͅt̸̩͓̯͉̥̟͆̉̅̚ ̶̪̻̗̣̙̤̪̘͉̅̇́̈́̆̈́̅̓̈́͋̐̏̑h̵̡̢̜̖̼̳̺̟̫̼͑͂̅̍͂̒̽͛̆͐͛̀̓̚̚͝í̸̖͋̋̑̅͊̈̄͗̎͒̃̈́͊̚̕̚͜͠m̵̫͖̐̈.̴͓͆̎̑̈́̉**

It was sterner, more of a command. Sammy stopped the violent thoughts going through his mind and silently apologized. He hurried to get past Henry, who was stepping into an ink-filled hall. Sammy reached the other side by the time he had taken about three steps, his feet splashing noisily in the ink. 

“Gross.” Henry grumbled. At least there was one thing they could agree on. Sammy eyed his surroundings. A cutout and another circle on the wall, one he hadn’t seen before. He picked up the cutout. He would reveal himself, just to see what Henry’s reaction would be. There was only so much you could learn about a person by listening to them talk to themselves. 

Sammy held the cutout under his arm and walked past the doorway, mumbling a rhyme he would sometimes say to the Searchers when they were too agitated for their own good. 

“Hello! Excuse me! Can you help me? Hello?” The splashes in the ink grew louder as Henry tried to move faster. He propped the cutout up against the wall and stepped into it. 

“Where the hell did he go?”  
Henry had been closer than he had thought. He silently berated himself for being so careless. He didn’t want him to know he could pass through walls, at least not yet. Henry stood there for a moment, staring. Then he shattered the cutout with his ax. Sammy felt a flutter of anger in his chest that he couldn’t quite push down this time. 

“Music to my ears.” He smiled, then turned and walked to the other side of the room. He said something more, but Sammy wasn’t paying attention. His attention was focused on the fact that the cutout was rebuilding itself. Henry turned again, then froze at the sight of the reassembled cutout. Sammy nearly laughed out loud. Bendy wouldn’t let him forget who was boss. Henry slowly walked to it, poking the cutout experimentally, then shattered it again. It broke, Henry blinked, then Sammy watched as it rebuild it in the blink of an eye. Literally, as it were. Henry reeled backwards and swung the ax once again, this time with much more force behind the blow. The ax lodged itself deep in the wall. Sammy blinked at the dull blade that was a half inch from his throat. He sidestepped, swallowing hard. Henry pulled the ax out with a grunt, then turned, pushed some soup cans out of the way, and pressed a switch. Punched it would be more accurate. With a huff, he turned and made his way back through the ink-filled hallway without another glance at the cutout. 

Sammy stepped out of the wall and peeked around the corner once Henry had reached the end of the hallway. He then turned and walked through the wall into the Music Department. There were several Searchers milling about, talking to each other in gurgles. 

“There’s someone here, and I don’t recommend letting him see you.” Sammy said loud enough to get the attention of all in the room. They looked at him questioningly. 

“I’m figuring it out, please stay out of sight until I do.” He said, using a softer tone now that he had their attention. They remained still for a few more moments before sinking into puddles. After all, Sammy would never lie to them. 

Sammy slipped into the wall as a rumble shook the room. Then, one of the doors opened, Henry stepping through it. Immediately, he felt the unrest of the Searchers. They were even more jealous of the man than he was. 

“It’s really dark in here.” He looked around, squinting. Sammy hadn’t even realized it was dark, he could see just fine. He turned and found his way into the stairwell. The one leading to the exit. 

“Looks like the stairwell is flooded. If I’m going to get out of here, I’ll need to find a way to drain it.” He heard the flip of a switch and the lights flickered to life. He frowned. He had a feeling that the Searchers wouldn’t be able to control themselves. And he wasn’t wrong. As the man re-emerged from the stairwell, one of the Searchers burst out of his puddle and attacked Henry. The others, fueled by rage, followed. Henry nearly tripped over his heels as he stumbled backwards, nearly falling down the stairs. He caught himself before he did so and swung the ax. It made a sickening splat as it connected with the lead Searcher’s body. It sunk into the floor as two more took its place. Henry continued to fend off the Searchers, Sammy’s own rage growing as each one disappeared into the puddles. Finally, he had managed to kill all of them. Henry leaned over, hands on his knees, panting. 

“What. The. Hell.” He gasped between breaths. He finally straightened, rubbed his eyes, and began walking toward the projectionist booth. Sammy stepped out of the wall and followed, fully intending to do to him the same thing that he had done to the Searchers. 

**D̷̨̧̰̺̜͓̦̺̞͍̐͂̊͝ͅo̴̼̐̑̔̽͠͝n̴̙̥͍̪̯͎̮̺̖͗’̷̤͚͉̺͎͉̮͔́̍̏t̵̨͎̘̲̺͖͒̇ͅ ̶̝͋͠ť̴͎͆̋̈́̌͌̑̒̚͝o̷̧̮̣͒͗̎̆̋̕̚͜ŭ̶̼̾͘͠ͅc̸̛̯͍͈̄̐h̶̡͇̮͙̬͊͒͘ ̸̹̘̦̟̝̯̊̅̈͋̆̈́͐̓̊͘̚h̶͍̤̦͓͍̼͕̰̰̯̯̥̽̇̋̾͒̈͐͋i̸̞̻̬̼̲͈͈̹͂͒͒͒̏̈́͗͝m̴̧̛̼̠͉̬̰͕̀͗̓̔͆͘͘.̷̡̫̲̪͈̹͌̐̕͜͠**

Sammy didn’t even pause as he drew nearer to Henry. He would make sure that Henry felt the same pain that the Searchers had. He reached out one hand to grab Henry’s shoulder when the pain hit. It jolted through every part of him as though he had just stuck his hand in an electrical outlet. The agonized screams tortured him again, whirling around him like a hurricane. He hadn’t heard them at all when The Machine had been dormant, but now they returned, louder than ever. The same hand that had been reaching toward Henry flew to cover his mouth, stifling the groan that rose in his throat. He staggered backward, barely managing to slip into the wall before Henry turned around, ax at the ready. Seeing no one, he continued up the stairs. Sammy fell to the floor, and the pain stopped as soon as it started. 

**W̸̨̧̛̛̛͔̰͓̪̥͉̝̺̭͍̹̣̱͎̤̤̹̹͖̃̔̅̏́͒̾̊̈̀̓́́͌͂̈́̈́̄̅͆͛͛́̔͊͊̏́͆̈̀̈͑̃̎̈́͊́̌̔̀̄̉̽̅̅̅̐̕͘̚̚̕͜ͅͅḨ̴̯̻̥̩̤͍̰̣͎͇̦̲͔͎̐̃̈̿̀̀̏͂̿̓̽̐͋͋̈́̽̊́̌͆́͑̏͆̒͝ͅẠ̷̡̡̧̛̲̮̠̝̹̦͇̻̰̞͙̯̺̬̪͙̙͍̪̯̞̱͈͓̹̫̦̯̃̊̅̋̈̃͋̇̂͗̽̇̀̈͑̎͛͌͗̒̐̓̅̌̈̉͒̂̕͘̕ͅT̵̨̧̢̛̟̪͇̲̣̲̭̦̹̩̱͔̺̼̝̗̟͕͈̳̳̻̝̻̭͍͚̫̗̺͚̹̘̖̰͓͑͋͐͑̽̈̀͊̓̍̋̌̋̓̄̃̾̽͗̌́͆̐̅̈́͂́͑̊̚͘ͅͅͅ ̵̧̡̡̧͈̪̞̞̯̲̘̱̺̝̰̻̩̰̬̪̱̣̻͙͎̠̯̻̱̘̤̳̠̥̘͈̙̺͇̫͇̦̦̺̮̗̈́͑̏̇̊͐̒̓̌̾͒͒͛̈́͂̉̋̽̄͐̔̈́̽̿̃͂̾̄̆́͆̌̋̅̄̐̈́̓̆͐̆̂͐̊͊͑̓̕̕͜͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅD̵̡̡̳̦͇͉̯̰̠͔͈̠̥̱̫̪̬͓͖̙̻̪̖͕̩̮̲̻͖̤̜͙̄̓̽͆̌̑͗̎̈́͋̂̿̒̐̏́͑͜͝I̴̧̢̧̧̭̥͎̯̘̣̖̮̞̖̩̞͇̬̗͙͚̜̰̪̱̳͚̹̩͇̥̖̰̮̜͖͖̰̱̰̠͍̅̾͂̃͒̓̓̋͌͆͂̌̅̓̔͑͗̍͛̉͂̎̿̈́͌̒͐̄̉͑̓̉̈́̇͗̀̏̀̾̀͌̕̕̕̚͝͝͠ͅD̷̡̳̞͕͓̲͕̳͙̬̣̟͔͇̺͖̺̊́̔̌̂̅͐̽͑̔͊͊̐͒̎̄̓̈́̋͆͂̑͐͒́̓̍̓̾̅͑̎̾̈́̈́̿̍͆͌̏̎̽̽̿̈́̕̚͘̕̚͝͝ͅ ̶̧̨̧̢̧̧̛͇̮̟̭̫̪̘̭̝̗̦̘̮̫̤̝̬̯͚̠͉̜̯͍̙̬͎̤͔̤̒͒̇̎̌͊͂̀̒͗͗̆̃̈́̏͗̐̓̈́̓̽̎̎͐̓̀͘̚̕̚͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅI̶̩͍̠͙̹̣̓́͛̉̅͐̾̑̋̉̐̓̇̓̾͗̾̓͗̈͛͑͆̽̇̈́͆͐̐́͆͊̄̍͝͠͠ ̵̡̢̪̟͈͎͍͍̪͎̤̹̻͕̥̭̠̖̪̰͕̙̬̊͂̍͊Ş̴̜͓͙̟̟̪͍̺̹̦̠̦̘̘̟̩̗͉̼̝͙̪̠̤͊͋̃̈̽̆͋͆͛̐̂͌̌͋̓͐̒͑̄̂̈́͊̌͆͒̐̆̑̃͑͊͛̋̾̑͐̏̾̕͜͠͝͝͝͝Ä̵̡̧̧̨̼͈̖̦̜͎̹͓͚̙̮͚͈͚͖̗̠̣̘̙͓͍́̇̽̾͘Y̷̧̧̢̨̛̠̭̠̤̮̞̠͉̙̩̙͓̬̦̥͖̖͈̖̥̫̯̱̘̲͍̰͕̲͎̟͓̪̰̬̮̺̱̩͙̲͔̬͚̳̰̜͖̻̟̜̩̋̂̒̿̉͑̑̄̓͆̈̀̎͊̋̒͊̍̑̓̍̈̋̊́͘̚̕͘̕͜͝͝?̵̢̧̡̡̡̢̡̧̛̦̰͚͕̥̝͈̺͓̲̟̰̯̙̱̘̺̻̬͇̫̳̤̹͖̰͓̲̘̳͚͈̱̤̳̠̘͖̪̗͇͖̫̺͈͙͒̒̊̉̅̎̃̍͋͌̍̿͋́̔̋̔͆͑͋̾̋̓̈́̑̈̐̓̅͗̕͘̕͜͝͠ͅͅ**

“I’m sorry,” whimpered Sammy. “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically, Henry pisses off Sammy, then Sammy pisses off the Inky Boi.


	19. It's Time to Believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I get to kill Sammy in this chapter! And because you don't see it in-game, I get to choose how he dies! *Rubs hands together* 
> 
> (I'm sorry, Sammy.)

Sammy continued to follow Henry throughout the Music Department as he formulated a plan. He had made Bendy angry with him, so he had to find a way to please him. As Henry listened to the various audio logs and murmured to himself, Sammy thought. Bendy didn’t want him to hurt him, yet he had reached out to grab Henry when he’d turned on The Machine. So Bendy must want him for something, alive. And though Sammy knew that Bendy could get his inky claws on Henry without help, maybe Sammy could make it a little easier for him. If he was lucky, he might even set them free. 

Sammy watched as Henry make his way into his sanctuary. He stepped out of the wall, standing in a little alcove to the left of the projectionist booth. He heard the sound of ink draining as a valve was turned. Then Henry reappeared from the sanctuary and spotted him. 

“Hey, who are you?” He called waving his hands. Sammy didn’t respond. He studied the older man’s face. He was another sheep. There was the flock, then there was the sacrifice. As he had said, love requires sacrifice. And how would Bendy free them if Sammy didn’t prove his loyalty? Especially after the stunt he had just pulled by not obeying him. 

The man frowned up at him, then looked around the room. Sammy watched as he grabbed an empty soup can from a shelf, then looked back up at him. Then he proceeded to reel his arm back and throw it. The action caught Sammy off guard, and the can connected with his shoulder with a splat. It stuck there, half-submerged in his ink. He pulled it out and glared at Henry, who had a sheepish look on his face. A fitting expression for the little lamb.

“Sorry, I-” Before he could finish, several Searchers sprung up and attacked him. Sammy watched, unmoving. Bendy didn’t seem to want the man hurt, but it wasn’t like he could control the Searchers. It took Henry several seconds to fend them off, and by the time he did, Sammy had slunk back into the wall. He knew where he’d head next, the infirmary. There was a pump down there. 

Sammy reached it at the same time Henry did, and noticed something. Henry noticed it as well. 

“Oh no, there’s no valve. Where did it go?” Sammy knew. One of the more shy Searchers liked to take it, for whatever reason. Henry pulled the switch and waited for the door to open, while Sammy turned and walked into a part of the sewer that was blocked off. He paused to listen as Henry made his way into the sewer. He heard splashes, and a few moments later, a tape recording. Sammy decided not to stick around and watch as Henry killed one of the only Searchers that he knew wouldn’t attack the man. Then, something made him change his mind. He wasn’t sure what, to be honest. He followed Henry several paces behind, staying close to the walls, and slipped into the walls of the little side room that seemed to have been someone’s office. He waited for several minutes, and as Henry passed him again, valve in hand, he went the direction he’d just come from. As he reached a larger room, he pressed himself against the wall as to not touch the ink. The walls were some hard material he couldn’t go through. Metal or concrete, probably. He reached saw a crate half-submerged in ink and make his way as close as possible. As he got closer, his suspicions were confirmed. Henry hadn’t been able to get close enough, so he used the crate to smash him into a puddle. _Was there no end to this man’s cruelty? He even killed the ones who wouldn’t harm a fly._ Sammy took a deep breath. If he was lucky, the Searcher would still be alive, but he’d have a good bit of trouble reforming himself after something like that. Sammy began to whisper his little rhyme. 

“Sheep sheep sheep, it’s time for sleep. Rest your head and you will see. In the morning you may wake, or in the morning he’ll set us free.” 

The Searcher slowly emerged from the ink. Touching it didn’t seem to bother them like it did Sammy, strangely enough. He gurgled sadly, put his hat back on, and came over to Sammy. Sammy knelt down best he could without touching the ink and the Searcher hugged him. Sammy hugged him back, humming a tune as the Searcher sobbed. He finally stopped, gurgled a thank you, and sunk into the ink. Sammy stood, taking a deep breath, and started back to the Music Department. 

Sammy found Henry, who had somehow opened a can of Bacon Soup and was sniffing it warily. Sammy nearly gagged at the sight. He had no idea how old the soup was, but it had been nasty even while Sammy had worked there. It was vegetables and meat that was supposed to be bacon suspended in a greasy liquid. Out of pure boredom, Sammy had tried some at some point, and it had absolutely no taste. Though he was pretty sure that had something to do with the fact that he didn't have any taste buds.

“I can’t believe this stuff hasn’t expired. What do they put in it?” He murmured to himself. Then he tilted his head back and took a sip. Henry shuddered as he forced himself to swallow. 

“Ugh. Well, at least I’m not hungry anymore,” he announced. He set the can down and continued walking to Sammy’s office, where the final pump to drain the stairwell was. Sammy made his way to the janitor’s closet while his back was turned. As the pump valve was turned and the ink began to drain, Sammy slipped out of the wall, grabbed the metal dustpan, and followed Henry a few paces behind him. He was sure that Bendy would approve. After all, he wasn’t going to hurt him, just put him to sleep for a little while. He felt more sure of himself when Bendy’s voice didn’t invade his thoughts. His hands began to shake with a mixture of excitement and adrenaline as he crept closer to Henry. Finally, he swung the dustpan and hit the side of Henry’s head with a loud clang. He grunted and collapsed in a heap.  
“Rest your head, it’s time for bed.” He whispered. Sammy’s giddiness began to wear off, and he started to worry. Had he done the right thing? He shook his head. It was too late to have second thoughts. He hooked his arms under Henry’s armpits and lifted him the best he could, but his feet dragged on the wood floor as Sammy carried him to the one room he knew would be perfect. 

Henry stirred as Sammy finished tightening the ropes that bound him to a wooden support beam. 

“There we go now, nice and tight. We wouldn’t want our sheep roaming away now, would we?” Henry’s eyes widened as he realized he couldn’t move.

“What’s going on? Sheep?” Sammy didn’t answer the question.

“No, we wouldn’t. But I am honored that you came all the way down here just to visit me. Almost makes what I’m about to do seem… Cruel.” Sammy ran his finger along the dull blade of Henry’s axe. 

“What do you mean? Please, I didn’t do anything wr-” Sammy felt a surge of anger.

“That is where you’re wrong, Henry.” Sammy snapped. “Not only _have_ you done something, you have done several things, all worthy of an axe to the skull, in my humble opinion.” Sammy held the axe close to Henry’s face as he said this, who eyed it nervously. Henry opened his mouth, but Sammy didn’t give him the chance to continue. 

“But, fortunately for you, someone else doesn’t hold the same opinion that I do, else you’d have been dead long before you harmed so many innocent souls.” Henry furrowed his brow, confused. Then, a look of recognition suddenly crossed his face, his eyes widening.

“I recognize that voice… Sammy?” Sammy paused, staring at the axe in his hands. Then he looked back up at Henry. 

“How do you know my name?” Henry quickly continued.

“We used to work together, before…” 

Suddenly there was a clang from above them, and Sammy recognized the sound.

“Shhh! I can hear him, crawling above. Crawling!” Sammy’s heart fluttered as he took a step backward. Bendy was near. He looked up to the ceiling. 

“Bendy will finally hear my calls, he will set us free!” 

“You… you’ve lost your mind.” Henry realized. Without warning, Sammy leaned forward so their faces were inches apart.

“Well, you know what they say. Crazy people don’t think they’re crazy. So maybe I am. Being trapped in this inky, dark abyss I call a body, and at the same time being trapped in this hell of a studio for who knows how long… it’s enough to drive the sanest person mad.” He said in a low voice.

“T-Thirty years,” croaked Henry.

“What?”

“It’s been over thirty years,” Henry mumbled under his breath, eyes on the floor. Sammy paused, backing up for a moment. There was no way it’d been three decades. It had been a long time, but there was no possible way it’d been that long. He was a liar, just like Joey.

“Even if that was true, it doesn’t matter. It’s time.” Henry looked back up at him, the fear evident in his eyes.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Me? Nothing.” He laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. “Bendy however, who knows? I don’t pretend to understand his ways. To do so could be considered blasphemous, little sheep. But I do know one thing.” He leaned in close and whispered in Henry’s ear.

“He will set us free.”

Sammy stood in the adjacent room, holding the single microphone that hung from the ceiling in his hand. He could hear Henry struggling to get out of the ropes. He held one finger down on a button as he spoke, knowing his words would be heard from the speakers in the next room. 

“Sheep sheep sheep, it’s time for sleep.” He had changed the words earlier, knowing that they would be the ones to be set free, not Henry. “Rest your head, it’s time for bed. In the morning you may wake, or in the morning you’ll be dead.” He raised his voice. “Hear me Bendy! Arise from the darkness, and claim my offering! Free me, I beg you! I summon you, come take this tender sheep!”

The room was suddenly coated in ink. Was Bendy going to free them right then and there? He turned, watching as Bendy emerged from the wall. The smile that always remained on his face was clearly there, but he could feel the anger radiating off him. Bendy lurched toward him menacingly and Sammy’s heart sunk. He was angry with him. He backed up as far as he could go as Bendy drew closer. 

“Please, I only wanted to-” Sammy’s begging was cut off as Bendy grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. He squeezed harder. It didn’t matter that Sammy didn’t need to breath, it _hurt_ , excruciatingly so. Bendy suddenly threw him against the wall, hitting hard with a splat before falling to the floor. The screams were louder than they had been since he’d tried to leave the studio all that time ago. As his vision began to blur and darken at the edges, he managed one final glimpse upward as Bendy limped toward him. 

“Please...” he whispered weakly, before Bendy grabbed him by the arm, lifting him up once again, Sammy hanging limply like a puppet on a string. He could feel himself on the verge of finally losing consciousness, though that would be too great a luxury. Bendy stared at him with that ever-present grin for a few moments, but it felt like it could have been hours. Then, without warning, Bendy plunged his claws into Sammy’s stomach. He let out a strangled gasp as the claws sunk into him, the pain so horrible that his body didn’t even know what to make of it, so it was several seconds before the white-hot pain shot through him. 

Bendy pulled his claws from his stomach with a squelch, then grabbed him roughly by the chin. 

Sammy felt his head being turned sharply to the right, hearing a sickening snap as everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Benderoo is angeroo.


	20. She Only Deceives

Screams. And darkness. His own mind whirling around with he wasn’t sure how many others. He had a vague feeling that this had happened before, long long ago. Feeling slowly came to his body; he was cold and wet and everything hurt. The screams began to dim as his vision began to focus. Where was he? He lifted his head out of the puddle he was laying in and struggled to sit up. Why was his mind so foggy? What had happened to him? As the puddle around him began to recede into the floorboards, he looked down at himself. _Well that was strange_. He was still wearing the overalls, to his relief, but his physique had changed. He was significantly more… muscular? While his body previously had been barely holding itself together, now it was closer to a proper body. Well, not close enough, since he was still made up of that blasted ink, but it was… better. As a matter of fact, he was actually more muscular that he had been when he DID have a proper body, however that worked. He also noticed that he was still wearing the mask.

Finally, Sammy noticed his surroundings. 

He lifted his gaze to find another pair of eyes staring down at him. These glowing amber eyes belonged to a slender ink person. They were standing over him, holding their elbow with their other hand in a nervous fashion. They didn’t seem to have a lower jaw, just thick ink dripping from their upper lip. 

Sammy scrambled backward with a surprised yelp, before realizing he was surrounded by ink people similar to the first. Most of them seemed wary or even scared of him, others were sitting by themselves, staring off into space, ignoring everyone and everything. The room he was in had crates around the edges of the room, the words “No Angels!” written on the back wall. 

He managed to speak.

“Who are you?” Some tensed, some looked at the floor, avoiding his gaze. He heard a choked sob from the back of the room.

“We… we don’t know.” He couldn’t see who had said this, but they all gave sullen nods, their amber eyes avoiding his. Sammy could feel their despair. It hung heavy in the air, causing the same feeling to begin to settle in the pit of his stomach. His shoulders slouched. He wanted to help them, more than almost anything, but what could he do? He felt helpless. What could he possibly do for them? 

There was really only one thing he could do, and though it wasn’t much, he had to do _something_. Glancing around the room, he spotted a banjo. He climbed to his feet and made his way over to it, stumbling a few times in his haste. The closest ink-people backed away from him. Grabbing hold of it, he seated himself on a crate before beginning to play. As the notes rang out, they seemed to relax a little. He played several songs, not wanting to stop. 

As he played, he thought. Had Bendy betrayed him? Forsaken him and lied to him? He struggled internally for several seconds, his music suffering from the conflict for just a few notes. _No_ , he decided. _No, it was my fault. I did something_ _wrong. I made him angry. It was MY fault._ He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he did stop. He slowly set it down as he stood. 

“As much as I wish I could keep playing for you, I have to go. Bendy will set us free.” Before he could move, one of them looked up at him and spoke in a hushed, raspy voice. 

“Watch out for the Angel.” The rest of them nodded in agreement. Vague memories of a cartoon and of a voice actress flashed through his mind.

“Who?” 

The same one spoke again, slow at first, then speeding up as they seemed to gain confidence. “The Angel. She... She searches for a way to make herself perfect. She will rip you apart if she catches you. Only one of us has escaped her grasp.” One of the smaller ink people slowly stood and shuffled up to him. One of their arms had been somehow brutally ripped off, part of their torso missing as well. A black, inky, gruesomely realistic-looking heart was visible, throbbing as ink dripped around it. They spoke, their hoarse voice barely audible. 

“What do you mean by that?” Sammy knew what they were referring to. He crouched down so he was face to face with them.

“Bendy. Bendy will set us free. He is not like the Angel, and he will save us from this.” He watched as hope began to fill their faces. Only a few didn’t. The same ones that had ignored his arrival and music. They continued to gaze at the floor or walls. They were too far gone for hope. 

“I do have a question though. Are there more of you? I’ve been through a lot of the studio but this is the first time I’ve seen people like you.”

The mangled and torn-up ink person replied after only a moment's hesitation. 

“There’s a… a harbor. Dozens of us, along with Searchers built a safe place, at the end of an ink river. Far from the Angel’s grasp.”

“Thank you, little lamb, is it far?” Sammy asked gently. They nodded. Sammy nodded thoughtfully, then straightened. 

“Stay strong my sheep, for he will rescue us from this inky prison.” He said loudly, before turning and stepping into the wall. He could hear their hushed murmurs behind him as he walked. He had decided to leave out a few tiny details about what Bendy had done to him, his only wish was to give them hope, not to worry or scare them. 

Where should he go now? He had no idea where the Music Department was, and the idea of heading back there made him a bit uncomfortable. Perhaps it would be a good idea to find this ‘harbor’. Continuing to make his way through the walls and peering into the rooms as he did so, he saw something different than the usual offices and such. He stepped out of the wall and found himself in what looked like a warehouse. There were parts of amusement park rides and games scattered around. As he looked around, he felt as though he had heard something about this place a long time ago. The memory was just under the surface, _just_ out of reach. He thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. It didn’t matter. None of his memories really did. The only thing that truly mattered was Bendy. 

He briefly walked around the warehouse, and was about to step back into the wall when he heard a voice. It wasn’t the voice of Bendy, however, as the sound came from the loud speakers.

“I see you down there.” A woman’s voice called tauntingly. Sammy looked around. 

“Another Lost One, wandering around without purpose. How pathetic.” The last part had a mocking tone to it.

“I’m not a Lost One,” Sammy said, assuming she was referring to the other ink people he’d encountered. “And I do, in fact, have a purpose.” He called loudly. There was a pause.

“Why do you wear his mask?” Her tone had changed- it was one of genuine confusion. 

“Because he will set us free.” 

“I-” She seemed to struggle for words for a moment, as though the pure absurdity of the concept left her speechless. Then she burst out laughing.

“Set you free?” She guffawed. She continued to laugh hysterically for several seconds. “I just- I can’t even imagine what would possess you to think that!” She cracked up for another good ten seconds, the noise harsh and staticky over the speakers. Then her tone changed very suddenly. 

“Tell me, what has he done to make you think he would free you? What has he done to make you think he _cares_?” She said, her voice aggravatingly condescending. _She’s right, what has Bendy done for me? Especially after all I’ve done for him_. The thought snaked into his brain before he could stop it. He shook his head vigorously. She was just trying to make him doubt Bendy. 

“Stop! Just stop!” He yelled, squeezing his eyes shut and putting his head in his hands. 

“Just-just stop. That’s not true. He _will_ set us free.” He said out loud, though it sounded like it was more for his benefit than the woman’s. Was she the ‘Angel’ the Lost Ones had warned her about? Sammy took a deep breath. 

“You’re just another liar.” With that, Sammy turned and disappeared into the wall. 

Sammy continued to breath deeply as he walked. He still didn’t know where he was going, but he stayed in the walls so the Angel wouldn’t know he was there and say anything else to him. 

_She’s just a liar. A False Angel._

Inhale.

_Bendy WILL set us free._

Exhale

_She’s trying to make me doubt him._

Inhale.

_But I can’t. I’ll never betray him._

Exhale

_What if this was some sort of test?_

Inhale.

_Maybe he just wants me to prove my loyalty._

Exhale.

**_What did I do wrong?_ **

Sammy froze as he heard a woman’s voice. It was different from the Angel’s. He turned and peered through the cracks in the wall, and saw the Angel. No, not THE Angel, but AN Angel nonetheless. She looked nearly identical to her. Wait, he'd only heard her voice over the PA system. He'd never seen her. Right? Wait... He shook his head, assuming he _had_ seen the False Angel at some point. Except that this other Angel was more whole. Kind of like the two Boris’ he’d encountered. Speaking of Boris, there was one here as well. His left arm looked strange, but he couldn’t see it too well as he was facing his right side. They were talking. Well, the other Angel was talking. Boris’ couldn’t talk. 

“There’s someone here,” she said in a hushed voice. Sammy stiffened, wondering if she could somehow sense his presence. The Boris tilted his head.

“I don’t know. He’s not like us. The Angel has him doing things for her.” Sammy relaxed slightly. They had to be talking about the man. What was his name again? 

“Just keep an eye out for him. He’s taken out the Butcher Gang clones multiple times and who knows how many Searchers, so he could be very dangerous.”

Sammy turned and kept walking. He didn’t need to hear any more. Besides, he needed to focus on finding the harbor. As he passed through a few more walls and down a few more hallways, he came across a massive pool of ink. No, to call it a pool of ink wouldn’t be accurate. It was more of a _river_ of ink. Glancing around, he found that the wooden walls and floors of the studio had been left behind, a new cavernous area opening out in front of him. To his left were two boats, side-by-side, just waiting to be launched into the ink river. 

Well, this was certainly the only ink river that he’d seen in the studio, so this had to be the one the Lost One had mentioned. And there was supposedly some sort of safe haven, a harbor, at the end of it. Now, how to get across it?

He glanced around the area to find some way to launch one of the boats. Spotting a lever, he stepped over to pull it. It took a lot of effort though, as it was rusty and old. With a screech of metal on metal, he managed to push it all the way down. Looking up, he found that neither boat had moved. He pulled it back up, then down again. When nothing came of it, he stepped over to the nearest boat and braced against it, pushing as hard as he could. 

The boat didn’t budge.

With an annoyed huff, he took a step backwards, glaring at it. It probably wouldn’t float anyway. His eyes travelled all around the cavern, looking for some way through the ink-filled tunnel. He walked over to the wall, examining closer. It hadn’t been solid concrete like he’d originally thought, but rather bricks. He was certain he couldn’t go through concrete, as he’d tried, but bricks… It was worth a try. He pushed his inky hands into it, but he couldn’t go through more than half a foot. Even then, it took him a good five minutes to get his ink that far. The minuscule cracks in the mortar just weren’t enough. But how would he get to the harbor?

Slowly, an idea began to form in his mind. The walls of the tunnel were curved, the bricks giving him footholds. And he could simply stick his hands into the wall to keep himself from losing his balance. 

It was a crazy plan. Dangerous, too, with all the ink right below him. And he had no idea how far the tunnel even was. It could work, but was he really willing to go through all that just to get to this alleged harbor? He thought about it for a minute. It would be a lot of effort. It’d probably be easier just to walk all the way back to the Music Department. However far it was, it’d be infinitely easier than putting this insane plan into action. But when he got back to his department, what would he do but write songs? He had no idea what he needed to do for Bendy to make him set them free. He hadn’t heard his voice in what felt like forever. Maybe he was still angry. 

He shook his head, mentally returning to the issue at hand. To return to the Music Department he’d also have to pass back through the domain of the Angel, and he’d probably have to spend the majority of the trip listening to her voice. 

Just that thought alone was almost enough to make him plunge into the ink river head first. 

He settled for a shudder instead. He decided that he would have to leave the Music Department behind him, at least for now. And so, Sammy wriggled his arms into the wall and began shuffling along the side of the tunnel. 

Thirty minutes later, he was ready to collapse. However, with the considerable amount of ink below him, he decided that doing so would be rather painful. To say the least. So he kept shuffling along, arms keeping him anchored to the wall. 

He allowed his mind to drift as he got into the rhythmic movement. However he snapped to attention and froze as he saw an ominous bubbling from below of the surface of the ink. Then, a massive hand broke the surface, the ink dropped off it to reveal the same yellow-beige color that was everywhere else in the studio. The Hand rotated, not unlike a submarine periscope. The ink was sloshing, waves lapping just inches below his feet. Hey, he had feet now. _Yeah, now's a good time for revelations like that,_ he scolded himself, the scowl on his face hidden by his mask. 

The huge hand started to move toward him, the ink becoming more riled the more it moved. Sammy held his breath, moving backward as far as possible. Half of his body was inside the wall. Going through it much easier when his life was in danger. All the while The Hand came closer. However, it stopped several yards short of the wall. It was then Sammy noticed something else floating in the ink. It was so blackened by the surrounding liquid that it was barely recognizable, but Sammy could just barely tell that it’d been a boat. It was currently floating on its side. The Hand grabbed it easily, then it sunk below the ink. Said ink seemed to calm immediately, no longer lapping as his feet. Sammy breathed a sigh of relief and continued, remaining hyper vigilant. No use testing his luck. 

Sammy looked up from the ink as the tunnel came to an end. In front of him was a wooden dock, and beyond that solid ground. The cavern walls were lined with little wooden shacks. There were Lost Ones and Searchers milling about. They didn’t look exactly happy, but they were less depressed-looking than the previous Lost Ones he’d encountered. 

There was one problem though. The tunnel had ended, and the other walls were solid concrete and 100% vertical. There was no way across the 20 foot stretch of ink that was between him and the harbor, except several barrels and crates and other wreckage floating in the ink. However, the nearest barrel was nearly 8 feet away. Not a jump he could make. There was no way he could go all the way back, though. Sammy looked around, and another idea started to form in his mind, this one even more insane and far-fetched than the first. Suicidal, even.

Freeing one arm from the wall, he felt along the wall, then dislodged a loose brick. He proceeded to throw it into the ink between himself and the nearest barrel. He repeated the motion, throwing another brick into the ink.

Then it came. The ink began to bubble disturbingly close to where Sammy gripped the wall. Sammy pulled his arms most of the way out, bending his knees slightly. The second The Hand emerged, he jumped. His arms flailed in the air for a split second before his feet landed on the gloved hand. It gave slightly, almost like a too-full water balloon beneath his feet. He immediately jumped to the barrel before it could submerge or move otherwise. The barrel dipped into the ink, the slimy black liquid going up to his ankles. He pressed his lips together at the whirl of screams and the pain that shot up his legs and spread throughout his body, forcing himself to ignore it. He jumped to the next crate. This one was more buoyant. Not wasting any time, he bounded from the crate to a plank to the dock. 

It all happened so fast that he hadn’t even had time to think. 

“I ... am an idiot.” He grunted as he collapsed onto the wooden planks of the dock. Taking pained breaths, he glanced around. Several Lost Ones and Searchers that had watched the spectacle and were now standing over him. Black dots danced in front of his vision, the screams roaring in his ears. 

It was most likely a combination of touching the ink and everything that had happened catching up with him in that moment that caused the following to happen. 

“Don’t pass out, don’t pass out.” He groaned. “Shi-”

He passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was torn between Sammy reforming in the Harbor or the Lost One's room. Decided on the latter, but then I had to come up with a creative way to get Sammy across the ink river. Well? Creative enough?


	21. The Bewilderment was Misjudged, the Rage Misdirected, But the Pain Was Neither

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, he's in the Lost Harbor, I'm pretty sure you all know what'll be coming next...  
> (I really am sorry this time... >╭╮<)

Sammy had been living at the harbor for several days. He’d been keeping track the best he could. The Lost Ones were no longer wary of him, so that was a good thing, he surmised. They’d given him the shack at the end of the harbor. It was the largest of the rickety wooden make-shift shelters, though that wasn’t saying much. It was maybe nine feet wide and four feet across on the inside. There were a few boards across the door, but he barely noticed them as he could come and go without even putting effort into it. Because of this, he had literally no reason to move the boards, and the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. As time passed, Sammy comforted the residents of the harbor as much as he could. He played songs for them on a banjo that one of them had given him. He’d seen plenty of other instruments, most of which he was proficient at playing, but the banjo was his favorite. Although at one point a Lost One had found a clarinet for him at one point, though he’d only been able to play it for a few minutes before it was ruined by ink. He would also tell them stories. It was really just the cartoons the studio had made in the form of a story, but they seemed to like it. He told them about Bendy too, of course.

The Lost Ones and Searchers in the harbor had come up with a sort of sleep cycle based on the one clock that was there. Sammy guessed it was just to make it feel more like home, not because any of them actually needed to sleep. Currently, everyone was asleep, or at least in their ‘homes’, but Sammy was awake. He was sitting on the ground inside his little shack, back against the wall, eyes closed. Thinking. His eyes snapped open when he heard something coming from the direction of the inky river. It was different from the subtle gurgling sound that The Hand made when it surfaced. With a frown, he picked up the axe that leaned on the wall next to him, (Another gift from one of the Lost Ones) stood up, and peered through the space between the boards. 

He watched as a boat chugged out of the mouth of the tunnel. On the boat was a man. It seemed that he had been able to get it working. The boat, not slowing, crashed into the dock, and the man got off as fast as he could before casting a nervous glance back toward the river. As if on cue, The Hand grabbed onto the boat and dragged it down into the ink. The man sighed loudly, then turned back to face Sammy. Then he slowly walked up the dock, towards him. As he stepped onto the solid ground of the harbor, Sammy got a better look at him. The man was stained with ink, and a lot of it. His pants from the thighs-down were completely soaked. His face, though it too had splashes of ink on it, was familiar. A small pipe was in one hand. Sammy’s grip on the axe tightened as the man drew nearer. Drew… Pipe…

An image of a man sneering down at him flashed through his mind. When it was gone, the man’s face was the face of Joey Drew, holding that same mocking smirk that had always made his blood boil. 

_What?_ A tiny, rational part of his brain asked in disbelief. _You’re seeing things,_ the voice protested. However, the voice was too quiet to change the fact that his heart was already speeding up, his fists clenching the axe so hard that the handle nearly snapped. The _nerve_ he had, coming back here after all this! After everything he’d done! 

The man was nearly to his shack. Sammy, fueled by rage, swung the axe, splitting each board in half with little resistance. 

“DECEIVED! BELITTLED!” Sammy screeched, his voice dripping with the hatred he held for Joey he’d been suppressing for so long. The man, startled, stumbled a few steps back, eyes wide and jaw hanging open. He recovered impressively quick though, scrambling backwards as Sammy advanced on him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lost Ones and Searchers watching from doorways and windows and cracks in the boards. 

“You’re alive?” He asked under his breath, the shock showing on his face. 

“I didn’t just work here, I gave you _everything_ ! Every song I poured my heart and soul into, but that wasn’t enough for you! _IT WAS NEVER ENOUGH_!” Sammy swung the axe at the man that he believed to be Joey, who barely dodged it. That was fortunate for the man, who of course was truly Henry, as a swing like that had enough power to detach a limb. 

“Sammy, what are you talking about?” The man panted as he ducked out of the way of the flailing axe again. 

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, lies can only get you so far! And look where they brought you!” The tip of the axe sliced through Henry’s ink-stained shirt. 

“I don’t want to have to hurt you, Sammy.” He gasped for breath, deflecting a blow with his pipe. There was a metallic _ping_ as they collided, but the axe didn’t damage it. He only grunted in response as he swung the axe again. 

Finally, Henry retaliated by swinging his pipe. It hit Sammy’s arm hard, though the pain went unnoticed. Henry continued to get hits in, barely dodging Sammy’s axe. He didn’t manage to do so a few times though, blood leaking through shallow cuts where Henry hadn’t been quick enough. 

“I’m going to cut that smile _right off your face!_ ” Finally, a stray blow from the pipe knocked Sammy’s mask off his face. It fluttered to the ground. 

  
On nothing more than an impulse, he covered his face with his hands. Then, in that split second, he had an idea. He wasn’t one to waste an opportunity. 

“No, don’t look at me!” He shouted, letting an undertone of embarrassment seep into his voice as he darted away from Henry. To his credit, he didn’t immediately fall for it. He paused in confusion as Sammy stopped in the center of the harbor, continuing to hold his head in his hands, doubled over. He slowly walked around Sammy, approaching him from the front.   
“Are you alr-” Without warning, Sammy shot forward and grabbed Henry by the shoulders, lifting the shorter man into the air as he did so. 

“You lied to me, you lied to all of us!” Sammy’s fingers dug into Henry’s skin, the man wincing and kicking his legs in the air futilely. 

“All I wanted was to be free from this!” Sammy hissed, leaning forward. Henry opened his mouth to say something, then had the wind knocked out of him as Sammy threw him onto the ground. 

“Well I’m going to free _you_ now. Free your head _right off your shoulders!_ ” Sammy put one foot Henry’s chest as he tried to get up. 

“Sheep, sheep, sheep…” Sammy held the axe in both hands, adjusting his grip.

“It’s time for…” He reeled his arms back, preparing to bring the axe down. The man’s eyes widened. If Sammy had been thinking straight, he may have noticed that Henry wasn’t looking at him, his eyes were focused on something else. Something behind him. Of course, he wasn’t.

“ _Sleep._ ” He brought the axe down with all his strength. 

Before it was even halfway down though, a searing pain pierced into the back of his head. For several seconds all he could do was stand there, motionless. It was worse than when Bendy had killed him, for he hadn’t seen this coming. Though he couldn’t bring himself to move, to react in any way, the pain itself wasn’t motionless. It was excruciatingly agonizing, penetrating every part of his being, his vision a blur of black and sepia. 

He stumbled, his knees buckling beneath him and he fell to the ground, landing right beside Henry. Something was yanked from his skull. His body would not respond to his attempts to move, to look behind him, to ask the one question that his bewildered mind could conjure. 

_What just happened?_

He vaguely sensed the man getting up off the ground, and voices. He couldn’t focus on the voices, on what they were saying, if they were even talking to him or to each other. The pain commanded his attention. A whimper forced itself from his throat, his vision ever-darkening as the whirling hurricane of screams drowned out everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH! I'M SORRY SAMMY. THIS IS THE LAST TIME IMA KILL YOU, I PROMISE.
> 
> Fun fact: This made my sister cry. And she read the rough draft.


	22. T̶h̶e̶ ̶E̶n̶d̶

It was only a matter of seconds before Sammy knew he was back in the ink. It was just how he’d remembered it. Cold, dark, noisy. Only now this third time it was slightly different. He felt as though he could almost understand them. The voices. Many were screaming in agony, though many were crying, harder to hear under the loudness of the former. But there were also voices whispering, murmuring in hushed tones. 

_-hen do we go home I want to g-_

_-y daughter why can’t I remember her na-_

_-so cold why is it so c-_

_-nother pipe burst can somebody clean this u-_

_-hurts so much everything hur-_

_-omebody please what’s happeni-_

_-work so much work to do before the deadlin-_

Sammy began to feel himself relax. The screams and sobbing began to become background noise as he started to lose himself in the voices. It would be so easy to just let go. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe Bendy wouldn’t free them. Maybe the Angel had been right all along, however deranged she was. What was the point? 

In all likelihood, he truly would have lost himself in the ink. However, this was not what happened, as suddenly it felt as though electricity jolted through him. In that split second, all became silent. The voices, the sobs, the screams. Silent. Not gone, but hushed, as though they were waiting. Then, there was a noise. It wasn’t any of the screams or voices. This was a _roar._ An absolutely spine-chilling, deafening, enraged roar. It— Sammy wasn’t sure how to even describe it. There were no words to describe such a horrifying sound. It was pure rage and suffering at the same time. An unnerving guttural screech that made Sammy fear for his life, however irrational it was to do so. He could feel the terror of the others in the ink, though there wasn’t a single word spoken. 

The darkness slowly began to give way to a soft yellow glow. This light, unlike anything he’d seen in all his time at the studio or in the puddles, like warm golden sun on a beautiful day. 

This glow started to get brighter. In seconds, it was a blinding glare, the type that closing your eyes would do nothing about. If he had eyes at the moment, that is. 

Then, everything was cut off. The roar, the blinding light, and Sammy’s consciousness. He didn’t even have time to be annoyed about being able to pass out while practically dead before everything was replaced by a suffocating, all-consuming blackness. 

  


**T̶h̶e̶ ̶E̶n̶d̶**

  
  
  
  


**Ṯ̷̢̡̧̧̡̛̰͚̭̺̦̣̼̯̫̲͈̮̗̹͈͚͖̺̞͖͎̬͉͚̲͇̺̩͔̘̣̜̯̼̲̣͓͙̔͗̓͌o̶̧̢̢̻̘̖̼͚̙̮̟͕̱̦͔̠̗͓̦̬̦̠̓̆͂̿̑̏̅̈́͂̓̅͋́͋̓͐͐́̀̈́̏̃͑͊̆̔̕͜͠ ̶̢̧͉̯̫̣͇̠̪̩̭͖̬̼̹̮̻̻̦̞̆̈́͛̉̆͐͗̈́̿̀͐͊̾̕͘͠͝͠͝ͅͅB̶̡̨̢̢̛̬̬͚̮̝̣͉̜̤̮͔̘̭̜̺̲̫̻͈̬̝̜͚̫͚̲̱̻̙͙͇̬͖͈̞̘̊̅͂͋̐̐̽̈́͑̓͒͊̇̌̉͋͑̈́͆̃̍̅̍͒͂͒̉̎͗͆̊̈́̋́̕͘̕͜͠͝ͅͅę̶̲̭̲̖̼͉͖̝̲̮̥̻̦̝̳̞͕̜̜͖̞̖̞̬͈̻̜̼͍̩̙̬̣̯̻͔̟̱̺̻̟͓̙̖͚͆̋͋͜͜͜ͅ ̷̧̨̧̧̧̛̛̰̯͈̭͍̬͚͙͎̤̜̫̞͎̣͖̫̟̙̯̼͉͓̖̪̼͙͇͉͕̪̤͖̣͓̙̤̠̥̬͓̤͕͌̽͌̆̒̔̓̈́́́͒͆̑̊̑͛̂̑͑̇͂̇̔̈́̊̈́͗̄̌͑̏͋͛͆̓̎̕̕͘͘͘̚̕͘͝͝͝͝͝͝C̵̢̡̨̨̡̨̰̭̤̰͙̟̼̗̻̼̮̻̯̘͖̼͕̼͑͆́̎̈̈̌͐̋̂̂̿̈́̿̂̇͛̎͛̂̋̽͌̑̃̆̄͐̚̚͠͝͝͠͠͠ͅͅỡ̷͙͖̣̯͉͉̭̜̤̹͕̇͌͌̍͛́̉̈͛̃͐̔͌̄͆̂̅͜n̴̢̡̬̼̤̠̭̞̯̤̬̬̣̖̰͍̲͓͍̲̣͙͍̙̲̺͎͓͈͇̻̠̰̱̘̮̹̺̳̫̼͙̤̦̜͆͛͗̾ţ̶̨̘̝͎͇̘͓̻̰̤̣̼̭̳̗̩͎̤̜̜̣̗͔̦̺̻̭͈͙̥͉̠̻̖̲̞̭̖̝̲̽͜i̸̢̡̢̛̼̜̳̬̲̤̜͎̰͍͔̯͍͇͔̦̩͉̖͓̯͚͍̫͕̩̫̳̦̤̗̝̺̠͍̦̾͋̀͑̈́͗́̇̑̔̾̑͆̈́͆̈́͑̉̂́̓̾̌̕͘͠͝͠ͅņ̶̨̢̨̢̛͓̭̖̰̳̣͔̣͍̦̞̳̘̜̘͈̱̖̼̹̲͉͍͕̭̈̌͆̌̉͛̈̏̾̓̒̾̇͂̍̓̂̒̄̒̆̉̀̿̄̈́̽͋̈͘͜͝͝͝͠͝ͅų̴̧̨̱͎̜̭̤̗̮͍̥̄̌̃̒̅̾̆͂̄̆̀̾̏͗̏͌̈́͋͛̌͛̒̂̉̓̍̍̆̄̓̾̒͐͒̓̓͊̅̎͆̏̌͐̀̅͗͂͘̚̕̕͠͝e̵̢̢̧̢̡̛̦͉͍̩̣͈̰̙̹̖͉̩͓͍̪̻̠̼̺̟̠͖͓̩̗͓̖̬̗̤̘͙̪̠̥͚̳̜̝͕͐̌̍͂͗̒̎̿͊̿̍̌͆̔̈̃͑̎́̾̔̈́͋̐̚͘̕̚͜͝ͅd̶̢̨̛͍̦͈͙͖͓̜̗͍̙͍͎̊͒͒̌̈́͗̾̀̈́̓̆̈́̃̇̽̽̔̀̋͗͐̑̄̿͋̎̆͗̅͘̕**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! This is The End of Sammy's Story, for now... Here's an explanation as to what my plans are for this. This IS the last chapter of this story in particular, but not for this series. I'm going to write stories like this one for several characters, (So far I'm thinking Wally, Susie, Norman, and Allison + Tom, though this may be subject to change.) then I'll write what happens after The End as it's own story.
> 
> Tell me what you think of this idea! I personally think it's a good one, but if a lot of you guys would rather me post what happens next as the next chapter ASAP, I may do that instead. Again, tell me what you think! Opinions, compliments, criticism, I'm open to all and enjoy reading them. I really hope you enjoyed this wild ride as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
